Every morning I awake to lush green trees set against deep azure skies. Bugs and birds cavort, the air is languid. Lush, extravagant summertime caresses my senses, luring me into complacency.
Ah, but Truth winks, chuckles, chides this morning; a bright yellow leaf falls. Here, there, and another. The sky is bright, the air languid, but nothing stands still. Breath in, breath out, and time marches along. Berries ripen, flowers fade, nestlings fly and winds loosen spent leaves from the trees.
I want to deny, resist, hold on to what seems best, seems right, seems home. But resistance is not home. Home is acceptance, appreciation, celebration of truth, of real, of all of it. Home is harmony with what is.
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