Living in the land of endless similarities I cannot fathom my first unending season. The inner child aches for the pungent smell of fallen leaves, the sound of kicking them about, the distant sight of snow in high places.
Seasons are required by the psyche. They speak of promised transformation: of hope worth clinging to.
So we savor change, weathering the losses they bear. For within them lies the promise of new Life.
Amen.
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