The light bends golden across the horizon.
Yellow leaves twisting golden in the breeze.
Distant sounds of laughter call me out
To join the dance
Of coming winter
Of summer’s dying
Of predictable pattern
Of persistent change
In the beautiful death of one thing
Comes the shimmering new life of another.
It didn’t even occur to me to not use the perfect light to make me look my best.
Like all of us, I wanted to put my best foot forward when I introduced myself to you . . . and also not look like I was either preparing to kill someone or joke my way through everything in life.
But is that the only place where beauty lies? Where our best foot is planted? When I refuse to let anything but the best show, am I missing a deeper, truer, more honest beauty?
I don’t know quite what it looks like to let that falseness die, but I desperately want the beauty to grow no matter what it looks like. And so I question, I watch, I struggle, and I sit quiet.
Perhaps it is here in the blank pages turned written where I will find the answers, or at least find a better me and urge you to a better you in the midst of our questions.