You know the feeling you get when you step outside that first day it feels like fall or the first day it feels like spring? The air does something in your lungs and toes and forehead and fills you with an overwhelming joy, making you run back inside to change your outfit? Or maybe it is just me. It makes me giggle a spontaneous prayer of praise. That period where the seasons touch and both mingle in the air with lingering kiss, both offering the best of their worlds...I think it is a glimpse of heaven. It's one of those moments where we see a subtle glow around the corner of our dark and fallen world and know that a cool reprieve is ahead after the heat of the labor of earth or that spring comes after the long, hard winter. When I step out this fall and let the cool, smoky air hit my lungs, I will hold onto hope that the season will change. The Fall will be no more. The season will change.
"I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit...What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods? I suspect myself, and cannot help a shudder when I find myself so implicated even in what are called good works--for this may sometimes happen." -Henry David Thoreau, Walking Don't get the wrong impression--I don't sit around reading Thoreau. This was just fitting and I happened to know enough of the gist to Google it. Wouldn't want y'all to think I'd gone academic English on y'all: that's my brother's job. I don't even know if I just used that colon correctly in that last sentence. We're in a period of major potential transition, which, I think, can be just as hard as the transition itself. The uncertainty of the lead-up doesn't have the "luxury" of the forced busyness of the real bustle of change. It's all research and p...
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