The sun sauntered into the starry sky and pulled me from my slumber. I looked into the sea of layered saturations and saw familiar colors, with shades of new. The birds told each other stories, fully aware to their very core that a shift was in the air. A time of harvest was upon us.

The sun rose higher that morning as she controlled the movement of moments, and the heart of the day. She spoke so loud, with a message so clear that the wind charged forth with perhaps an even louder response. And we would spend the day listening to their exchange of wisdoms. Guided by their messages.

Soon we would come to understand the teachings of the elements. For, we’ve been only growing at the pace of the seasons. Learning for lifetimes the sweet re-appreciation of knitted warmth resting over our sun-soaked skin.

Anticipating cooler nights and the mysteries of a glowing moon, we would watch the trees shed all the leaves to prepare for something new. Day met dusk with open arms. Blue turned into stars.  And all the while we would realize that we are not going with the seasons, rather, we are the seasons.

Contribution to The Daily Post

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