Seasons

Where is the Window, the Light, the Door

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Clouds gather

Room darkens

Colder is the air

Autumn fades and with it, so do the leaves

Squirrel buries acorns on the bank

Birds feast on the feeders

Busy mind wanders

Heart longs for creative expression to reign

A familiar refrain comes to mind ‘Where does love go when the lights go out?’

Love is always here residing in the Heart, the Whisperer reminds me

The only thing required from you is to ‘Believe’

The answers may not be evident. Waiting is required. I’m not good at waiting.

Yet, I know, when the door opens effortlessly, I am walking in alignment with the Source of All Knowingness and Love, and once again, All WILL be Well.

©Anita Adams 11/25/2022

Looking for a Word

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It’s cold and damp this February morning in the Appalachia mountains – bluejays, cardinals and squirrels are confused by the signs of a very early Spring – scattered with drops of freezing temperatures.

I, too, feel somewhat confused by the seasons lack of consistency . Winter is a necessary part of nesting, creative percolating – a time that’s been interrupted by an climate change.

Will the Spring come too soon and all be destroyed with the many frosts that should be forthcoming?

The word is a question and question is the word.