We listen to the ads on our flatscreen TVs,
Telling us we need this, or how we deserve that.
No wonder everyone's driving a big red truck.
Working for something used to be called "delayed gratification";
Earning what we could in order to get what we really needed.
But as the years have gone by, somewhere in there,
the value of "value" has changed;
debt became our master,
and we lost our souls.
Delayed gratification became instant gratification became entitlement,
And we consumed our way into an abysmal pit.
The blackness spreading on the back of the lie
that "more will satisfy",
Where the "greater good" and our "fellow man" are shoved under the carpet called "MINE",
That gets more plush, more thick, more (blood) stain resistant, and more smothering as the generations pass by.
We stand back and watch as corrupt old men buy their way into power.
We recognize the greed.
By doing nothing, we acknowledge and validate the all-consuming, blood-thirsty hunger behind it all...
We might even find ways to justify it in our own warped and broken minds.
But then, someone notices the bodies left in their wake...
living and breathing,
lonely and bleeding,
suffering bodies.
And we have to wonder, how did we go so far? How have we let it get so far gone?
When year after year of people seeking and buying what they want,
(and mortgaging their future to get it)
we wonder why our children aren't satisfied by anything we have to give anymore.
After decades of darkening backdoor deals to obtain whatever goods our dark hearts desire,
we wonder why our daughters are being sold into black market slavery,
and we wonder why our sons are the ones forking over the cash.
After years of filling our grocery carts, and our homes;
with a system that supports us,
and a collective identity that ignores those who can't,
It's no wonder that homelessness and hunger and destitution are spreading like a smoldering prairie wildfire.
As our cars and our clothes and our homes become more opulent,
It's no wonder the cycle of poverty continues to gain speed on its devastating tracks.
After years of allowing our offenses to drive us (instead of common sense),
It's no wonder that at the beginning and the end of the day, the only person we view as important is our self.
What if it's like Newton's third law of physics: that every action has an equal and opposite reaction, except with people?
Human beings.
Sons and daughters,
mothers and fathers,
sisters and brothers,
husbands and wives...
If this is the case,that something I do, or something I want, or something I buy, affects someone else in an equal and opposite way...
If I find myself in the mentality of consuming, the mentality of chasing things,
then it's really me who's hurting someone else.
When I get that thing I want, the equal and opposite reaction is that someone else doesn't get what they need.
It's no wonder then,
that the day the world started falling apart
is the day we forgot our neighbor.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
What have we become?
What have we become?
People who would sooner divide ourselves than be united by something greater...
People who would rather criticize than encourage...
People who would rather shout from our ignorance rather than humbly learn...
People who would more easily rely on our learned economy of self-preservation and the resulting outward hatred, rather than expend the energy it takes to understand...
People who have idolized our symbols, without understanding or knowing our history, and without understanding all the perspectives of our precious symbols, and without grasping the concept of the symbolism changing our evolving over time...
People who would rather unknowingly fall with the majority than stand for a minute with the least...
People who would rather live in self-created isolation and polarity than grasp the true freedom that comes from recognizing and destroying our self-centered universes...
People who have idolized ourselves and our beliefs, without the knowledge of where we, or our beliefs, originated from...
Father, forgive us...
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
The Backyard
(Another English journal entry)
My backyard has never seemed like solace before, until now, the last three weeks of school. Just to escape from my desk in the cluttered office, or the dining room table where dogs wrestle under my feet, coming outside is a return to life for me, even if it's into my tamed backyard.
The rain sprinkling down unnoticed (until it finds the tip of my pen) isn't going to stop me, for there's life in the rain as well. Besides, the sliding glass door opened all the way, a chair in the opening, and me on it doesn't seem to separate me as much. I can still smell the air, I can still feel the morning breeze, I can still see unimpeded by glass and conditioned air, I can still hear the mad symphony being played by unseen musicians in the trees.
Be Still.
I wonder how it is that spending one clouded morning on my back deck gives more peace than the previous weekend in the mountains. I went to the mountains looking for something; answers. At the great cost of disturbing my expectations of peace, I got them. Answers to facilitation of my calling, which has been weighing heavily on my mind, almost to the point of distraction.
Maybe peace comes from within.
I couldn't relax in the mountains, because I had so much on my mind. Even when I had time to be alone, to think, any appreciation for my view was tainted by my thoughts, my worries, my questions.
Despite the setting, (which I'm sure may have been chosen to illicit choices and responses out of the sheer magnitude of the beauty surrounding us) nature couldn't be the manipulator here.
What good is a lake in the mountains if all you can do is look at it? Looking at it does nothing but awaken the desire to be in it. To be on the water, whether fishing or playing, swimming or boating; to be on the mountain, hiking or camping, or just sitting and breathing.
If not intimate and up close, it all looks the same.
It wasn't until I stole away one morning to the lake shore that I was able to find the peace I sought. Sitting on the shore, not three feet from the water's edge, I was overwhelmed by God, who showed me the lake as a metaphor for the human life.
I couldn't write fast enough, the time slipped away from me, and all of a sudden, the clock and the schedule, (the actual reason I was in the mountains) trumped my moment, my observations.
I've learned more about humanity by observing nature that I ever thought possible, fleshed out with words to a world that won't listen, for the words fall on ears distracted by the high-pitched whine of selfishness and comfort.
My backyard is coming to life.
The baby leaves birthed onto bare branches nestled in with the monotony of the pines remind me to look for life among the masses, in the midst of the conformity, among the lives that all look the same from a distance. Some will bear fruit, such as the persimmon trees, some will offer shade, some flower extravagantly, and some just put forth seed.
But all of them, together, make up and describe the landscape of my life.
My backyard has never seemed like solace before, until now, the last three weeks of school. Just to escape from my desk in the cluttered office, or the dining room table where dogs wrestle under my feet, coming outside is a return to life for me, even if it's into my tamed backyard.
The rain sprinkling down unnoticed (until it finds the tip of my pen) isn't going to stop me, for there's life in the rain as well. Besides, the sliding glass door opened all the way, a chair in the opening, and me on it doesn't seem to separate me as much. I can still smell the air, I can still feel the morning breeze, I can still see unimpeded by glass and conditioned air, I can still hear the mad symphony being played by unseen musicians in the trees.
Be Still.
I wonder how it is that spending one clouded morning on my back deck gives more peace than the previous weekend in the mountains. I went to the mountains looking for something; answers. At the great cost of disturbing my expectations of peace, I got them. Answers to facilitation of my calling, which has been weighing heavily on my mind, almost to the point of distraction.
Maybe peace comes from within.
I couldn't relax in the mountains, because I had so much on my mind. Even when I had time to be alone, to think, any appreciation for my view was tainted by my thoughts, my worries, my questions.
Despite the setting, (which I'm sure may have been chosen to illicit choices and responses out of the sheer magnitude of the beauty surrounding us) nature couldn't be the manipulator here.
What good is a lake in the mountains if all you can do is look at it? Looking at it does nothing but awaken the desire to be in it. To be on the water, whether fishing or playing, swimming or boating; to be on the mountain, hiking or camping, or just sitting and breathing.
If not intimate and up close, it all looks the same.
It wasn't until I stole away one morning to the lake shore that I was able to find the peace I sought. Sitting on the shore, not three feet from the water's edge, I was overwhelmed by God, who showed me the lake as a metaphor for the human life.
I couldn't write fast enough, the time slipped away from me, and all of a sudden, the clock and the schedule, (the actual reason I was in the mountains) trumped my moment, my observations.
I've learned more about humanity by observing nature that I ever thought possible, fleshed out with words to a world that won't listen, for the words fall on ears distracted by the high-pitched whine of selfishness and comfort.
My backyard is coming to life.
The baby leaves birthed onto bare branches nestled in with the monotony of the pines remind me to look for life among the masses, in the midst of the conformity, among the lives that all look the same from a distance. Some will bear fruit, such as the persimmon trees, some will offer shade, some flower extravagantly, and some just put forth seed.
But all of them, together, make up and describe the landscape of my life.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Setting and Success
Shifting; always changing, whether mighty or minuscule; anything that follows God will always be shifting.
Looking around, I see symptoms everywhere of a copying and regurgitation culture. I recently returned to school and see it in the students. They'll take an assignment, and spit back out what they took in, seemingly unable to take the material in, think about what it means, and apply it. I roll my eyes more often than not... it's like the capacity to think has been bred out of us. Our great "learning centers" have regressed; we have been duped into shelling out the rest of our lives for this "education" now.
The same thing happens almost everywhere. In the church, we read books by these up and coming leaders, and try to copy and regurgitate their methods in our own settings. We fail to take into account the setting where they became so-called successful, and even worse, we fail to even consider how something like that would apply in our own setting.
There are "buzz" locations, places where what the institution and leadership calls 'success' is occurring, both in our own local setting, and on the national level. And that's fantastic. Really. I'm glad someone is figuring out how to tap into the potential that's everywhere.
But what is considered successful and what is considered effective in these places may not apply in any way, shape or form to the setting where you are.
What is 'success' in a church, anyways? Do you gauge success by the number of people sitting inside on Sunday morning? By counting the people (who already have everything they could ever need,) except now they call themselves faithful because they gather on Sunday mornings?
If this is your measure of success, then from here on out, you'll probably never see this. It's just not how God is doing things anymore.
If you can't see how God is drawing us all deeper into Him, and closer to one another, then... well, I'll be nice and shut up.
So how DO we measure success, especially in smaller churches that are strategically placed in areas where the gospel isn't just empty words, but the only thing that brings hope?
Are we tapping into this, or are we just being lazy and doing what we've always done?
Instead of being all proud and boastful of how many people you feed in your food pantry "ministry", maybe what God is doing now is inviting us down deep, in the depths of humanity, to get to the real reason that people need to get food from a food pantry.
Wouldn't it be nice if there was no longer a need for a food pantry?? THAT could be called success. (Then the army of people who volunteer to help with the monstrosity that has become the food pantry can actually be doing something to feed someone's soul, not just their belly.)
What if real success is standing side by side with people as they endure all that life throws at them? It could look like noticing that someone is struggling, or noticing that something is 'off', and making yourself available to them. Where they do all the talking, and we utilize the ears we've been given. (I am particularly fond of reminding people that we've been given two ears and one mouth, not the other way around.)
Instead of preaching to them, we walk with them. It doesn't matter what side we stand, there's an ear on both sides of our head...
What if real success is slowly, patiently, changing the mentality of entire communities from hopelessness to a mentality of grace, and accountability, and general concern for the well-being of one another? Where people stand together, united and connected.
I would call that a kingdom transformation!
When looking at what to do next, it will take a holy imagination, and a whole lot of listening to what God is doing to figure out what is coming.
If we're not tapping into these things, then we'll just see more concrete proof of the crumbling of an institution built by man to honor God, but ignoring Him in the process.
Looking around, I see symptoms everywhere of a copying and regurgitation culture. I recently returned to school and see it in the students. They'll take an assignment, and spit back out what they took in, seemingly unable to take the material in, think about what it means, and apply it. I roll my eyes more often than not... it's like the capacity to think has been bred out of us. Our great "learning centers" have regressed; we have been duped into shelling out the rest of our lives for this "education" now.
The same thing happens almost everywhere. In the church, we read books by these up and coming leaders, and try to copy and regurgitate their methods in our own settings. We fail to take into account the setting where they became so-called successful, and even worse, we fail to even consider how something like that would apply in our own setting.
There are "buzz" locations, places where what the institution and leadership calls 'success' is occurring, both in our own local setting, and on the national level. And that's fantastic. Really. I'm glad someone is figuring out how to tap into the potential that's everywhere.
But what is considered successful and what is considered effective in these places may not apply in any way, shape or form to the setting where you are.
What is 'success' in a church, anyways? Do you gauge success by the number of people sitting inside on Sunday morning? By counting the people (who already have everything they could ever need,) except now they call themselves faithful because they gather on Sunday mornings?
If this is your measure of success, then from here on out, you'll probably never see this. It's just not how God is doing things anymore.
If you can't see how God is drawing us all deeper into Him, and closer to one another, then... well, I'll be nice and shut up.
So how DO we measure success, especially in smaller churches that are strategically placed in areas where the gospel isn't just empty words, but the only thing that brings hope?
Are we tapping into this, or are we just being lazy and doing what we've always done?
Instead of being all proud and boastful of how many people you feed in your food pantry "ministry", maybe what God is doing now is inviting us down deep, in the depths of humanity, to get to the real reason that people need to get food from a food pantry.
Wouldn't it be nice if there was no longer a need for a food pantry?? THAT could be called success. (Then the army of people who volunteer to help with the monstrosity that has become the food pantry can actually be doing something to feed someone's soul, not just their belly.)
What if real success is standing side by side with people as they endure all that life throws at them? It could look like noticing that someone is struggling, or noticing that something is 'off', and making yourself available to them. Where they do all the talking, and we utilize the ears we've been given. (I am particularly fond of reminding people that we've been given two ears and one mouth, not the other way around.)
Instead of preaching to them, we walk with them. It doesn't matter what side we stand, there's an ear on both sides of our head...
What if real success is slowly, patiently, changing the mentality of entire communities from hopelessness to a mentality of grace, and accountability, and general concern for the well-being of one another? Where people stand together, united and connected.
I would call that a kingdom transformation!
When looking at what to do next, it will take a holy imagination, and a whole lot of listening to what God is doing to figure out what is coming.
If we're not tapping into these things, then we'll just see more concrete proof of the crumbling of an institution built by man to honor God, but ignoring Him in the process.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
March
In the blink of an eye, time passes.
The most desolate month of the year is gone (thank God), and in its place arrives a command: march.
The darkness of February brings us to self-preservation; the cocoon is built, the blinders are on, and we close our eyes, all in hopes to weather the storm we cannot escape.
I am a bewildered soldier who knows what the command means. I question everything about it, for it came with no answers and no clarity, only more of the unexplainable notion of faith.
Work still has to be done in what was supposed to be periods of rest... will relief ever come.
Relationships still have to be explained and maintained and nurtured, despite the agony of our brokenness and our misunderstandings and our offenses all being laid bare in plain view.
The mortally wounded lay grovelling at the feet of the offenders, begging for mercy. The apparent injustice of it all sickens me.
'Confession' feels like feeble attempts to soothe the beast; words fail time and time again, so we just stop using them; somehow thinking that things will get better on their own.
The command echoes; the sound it creates is the only peace I know. I keep chanting it, like a mantra, as it drives a rhythm into me, activating bone and muscle and flesh and neurons into action.
I am in between the first and second step, I think, of my cadence; time slows to an eternal pace as I try to anticipate where this procession leads before the second foot falls.
But, like the predawn sky, the command comes out of the darkness, pushing me.
Prodding.
Driving.
I am too tired to resist.
The most desolate month of the year is gone (thank God), and in its place arrives a command: march.
The darkness of February brings us to self-preservation; the cocoon is built, the blinders are on, and we close our eyes, all in hopes to weather the storm we cannot escape.
I am a bewildered soldier who knows what the command means. I question everything about it, for it came with no answers and no clarity, only more of the unexplainable notion of faith.
Work still has to be done in what was supposed to be periods of rest... will relief ever come.
Relationships still have to be explained and maintained and nurtured, despite the agony of our brokenness and our misunderstandings and our offenses all being laid bare in plain view.
The mortally wounded lay grovelling at the feet of the offenders, begging for mercy. The apparent injustice of it all sickens me.
'Confession' feels like feeble attempts to soothe the beast; words fail time and time again, so we just stop using them; somehow thinking that things will get better on their own.
The command echoes; the sound it creates is the only peace I know. I keep chanting it, like a mantra, as it drives a rhythm into me, activating bone and muscle and flesh and neurons into action.
I am in between the first and second step, I think, of my cadence; time slows to an eternal pace as I try to anticipate where this procession leads before the second foot falls.
But, like the predawn sky, the command comes out of the darkness, pushing me.
Prodding.
Driving.
I am too tired to resist.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Road Kill and Funny Hats
Earlier this month, on my way to school one morning (it was more like every morning), I was lamenting over everything that was happening in my life, and in the lives of the people around me - family, friends, our community. I was getting ready to hit that magic point; teetering on full-blown overwhelmed, fighting back tears over the magnitude of decisions that needed to be made, and the possible outcomes that could come from those decisions.
My heart was breaking for those I couldn't be present with; not that I had any special knowledge, insights, or grand solutions to offer; no, I had nothing to offer but myself. And I couldn't even do that. Which led to aggravation at the sudden imposition my school work was becoming.
I know myself well enough to know that these were dangerous waters to be treading in... rather than stretch myself or adapt, I'd just as soon be rid of the imposition. Be done with it. Quit school. Again. And I could very easily see myself making (and justifying) the excuse that "my relationships with others are more important". (This is part of my suck, and I know this.)
Driving down the road, there was a dead raccoon on the side of the road, about a foot off the edge of the asphalt. He was flat on his back with his head turned toward oncoming traffic, as if he was watching the cars go by. He looked very cartoonish, back legs straight behind him, front legs laid at his sides like arms, his tail whipping in the currents created by every passing vehicle.
I seriously felt like this raccoon looked. Bowled over, knocked out.
February makes me feel like road kill. Caught in the headlights, frozen, and then, WHAM!
I spent the next few miles relating to this caricature, distracted enough by it that I didn't notice anything else, nor could if I wanted to.
Until the Volkswagen.
It was in front of me as I arrived at the next intersection; both of us in the left turn lane. Nothing spectacular, a newer style Bug; no external adornments, no flashy colors, just a simple, grey Bug.
Movement in the back windshield caught my eye; a dog: a fluffy white poodle.
Maybe it was dancing, maybe it didn't like riding in the car, maybe it was unbelievably excited about the world it was seeing outside the box it was trapped in. Never the less, this dog pinged back and forth between windows in a three second racetrack, over and over and over. I followed his chariot all the way to the next intersection.
(Have you ever had one of those moments where you can actually see the atmosphere around you changing? This was one of those moments for me.)
The determination of this poodle in car beside me held me captive, until I moved my eyes from the activity in the back of the car, to the activity in the front of the car.
The driver was singing. Her head was bobbing, exaggerated because of the mood-changing hat she wore. This hat was a bowler-type, and purple. And covered with the most vibrant colored flowers I'd seen in months. Huge, gaudy, floppy flowers that bobbed and jiggled with the motions of her singing and car-dancing. The silliness of the scene overcame me.
I suddenly forgot all else. There was nothing else happening in the entire world at that moment, except this woman singing, the flowers on her hat swirling in rhythm, her hands flying to emphasize certain words, and her dog dancing in the back seat.
Tensions drained in a moment so quick that the weightlessness of the resulting peace was dizzying; physically altering those few seconds of my existence. I couldn't help but laugh out of sheer joy.
Since then, the raccoon on the side of the road has disappeared. I don't know if some magical road-kill-clean-up-crew came through and disposed of his body, or if, more than likely, he became lunch for something else. I'd like to think, however morbidly, he became lunch, because then there would at least be some purpose to his untimely demise. Just like I'd like to think there's some sort of purpose for all the shit sammiches February keeps packing in my lunch.
Then Lent shows up. Preparation time; time to give something up. I don't know if I can do it this year, give up something else. I don't know if there's anything left to give.
The usual self-sacrificing messages aren't bombarding me this year, thank God; it's something else. It's OK.
It's OK that I'm overwhelmed and don't know which end is up.
It's OK that I can't even admit I need help, or that I don't know how to ask for it.
It's OK that I'm not perfect.
It's OK that I'm human.
Not that I can revel in these confessions, but I can take some solace in the fact that the answer for them and to them doesn't have to come from me. I don't have to search for the answers, nor do I have to produce them. There's a huge relief in being reminded of that, of understanding that; almost makes me want to put on a funny hat and sing like there's no tomorrow.
On the downward slope, making my way out of this month, I'm learning that it's okay to feel like road kill. That when we're bowled over, and feeling crushed by life, there's always someone with a funny hat; so unexpected, so disarming, that all we can do is laugh, or we might break into the dust we came from.
And maybe, just maybe, it will remove the immense weight of life from our shoulders, even if it's just for a few minutes.
My heart was breaking for those I couldn't be present with; not that I had any special knowledge, insights, or grand solutions to offer; no, I had nothing to offer but myself. And I couldn't even do that. Which led to aggravation at the sudden imposition my school work was becoming.
I know myself well enough to know that these were dangerous waters to be treading in... rather than stretch myself or adapt, I'd just as soon be rid of the imposition. Be done with it. Quit school. Again. And I could very easily see myself making (and justifying) the excuse that "my relationships with others are more important". (This is part of my suck, and I know this.)
Driving down the road, there was a dead raccoon on the side of the road, about a foot off the edge of the asphalt. He was flat on his back with his head turned toward oncoming traffic, as if he was watching the cars go by. He looked very cartoonish, back legs straight behind him, front legs laid at his sides like arms, his tail whipping in the currents created by every passing vehicle.
I seriously felt like this raccoon looked. Bowled over, knocked out.
February makes me feel like road kill. Caught in the headlights, frozen, and then, WHAM!
I spent the next few miles relating to this caricature, distracted enough by it that I didn't notice anything else, nor could if I wanted to.
Until the Volkswagen.
It was in front of me as I arrived at the next intersection; both of us in the left turn lane. Nothing spectacular, a newer style Bug; no external adornments, no flashy colors, just a simple, grey Bug.
Movement in the back windshield caught my eye; a dog: a fluffy white poodle.
Maybe it was dancing, maybe it didn't like riding in the car, maybe it was unbelievably excited about the world it was seeing outside the box it was trapped in. Never the less, this dog pinged back and forth between windows in a three second racetrack, over and over and over. I followed his chariot all the way to the next intersection.
(Have you ever had one of those moments where you can actually see the atmosphere around you changing? This was one of those moments for me.)
The determination of this poodle in car beside me held me captive, until I moved my eyes from the activity in the back of the car, to the activity in the front of the car.
The driver was singing. Her head was bobbing, exaggerated because of the mood-changing hat she wore. This hat was a bowler-type, and purple. And covered with the most vibrant colored flowers I'd seen in months. Huge, gaudy, floppy flowers that bobbed and jiggled with the motions of her singing and car-dancing. The silliness of the scene overcame me.
I suddenly forgot all else. There was nothing else happening in the entire world at that moment, except this woman singing, the flowers on her hat swirling in rhythm, her hands flying to emphasize certain words, and her dog dancing in the back seat.
Tensions drained in a moment so quick that the weightlessness of the resulting peace was dizzying; physically altering those few seconds of my existence. I couldn't help but laugh out of sheer joy.
Since then, the raccoon on the side of the road has disappeared. I don't know if some magical road-kill-clean-up-crew came through and disposed of his body, or if, more than likely, he became lunch for something else. I'd like to think, however morbidly, he became lunch, because then there would at least be some purpose to his untimely demise. Just like I'd like to think there's some sort of purpose for all the shit sammiches February keeps packing in my lunch.
Then Lent shows up. Preparation time; time to give something up. I don't know if I can do it this year, give up something else. I don't know if there's anything left to give.
The usual self-sacrificing messages aren't bombarding me this year, thank God; it's something else. It's OK.
It's OK that I'm overwhelmed and don't know which end is up.
It's OK that I can't even admit I need help, or that I don't know how to ask for it.
It's OK that I'm not perfect.
It's OK that I'm human.
Not that I can revel in these confessions, but I can take some solace in the fact that the answer for them and to them doesn't have to come from me. I don't have to search for the answers, nor do I have to produce them. There's a huge relief in being reminded of that, of understanding that; almost makes me want to put on a funny hat and sing like there's no tomorrow.
On the downward slope, making my way out of this month, I'm learning that it's okay to feel like road kill. That when we're bowled over, and feeling crushed by life, there's always someone with a funny hat; so unexpected, so disarming, that all we can do is laugh, or we might break into the dust we came from.
And maybe, just maybe, it will remove the immense weight of life from our shoulders, even if it's just for a few minutes.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
February
Spring never seems as far away as it does in February.
February, it seems, is a month of extremes. Teasing warm days followed by bone-chilling frost and wind. Quiet health and ravishing sickness. The days are starting to extend, but not nearly as much as is needed. Certain times of the day seem to stretch out space; the yard seems particularly empty, and in its emptiness, it appears so much bigger. Tricks of the eyes, or the senses, or the sun herself, I don't know. A smaller calendar, fewer days, yet a constant increase in the number of obligations.
February always seems to be a month of adversity, a month that runs out of days before it can come up with any conclusions or offer any solutions. Just as abrupt as the end of this month, so too the disappearance of all that ails in February.
Maybe it's just the hope that comes with March; a new season just around the corner, with the promise of more time trapped inside the extending hours of sunlight.
It could be the hope that arrives on the heels of the return of color, the putting-away of the death-garb of winter. The undertones of the next holiday, Easter; something sweet, the promise of new life, the swarm of pastels, and something in the air that tastes like young sounds.
By February, every blanketed morning sky is just another grim reminder of winter. 'When will it end' seems to never end, lasting far longer than any other time of year.
The shortness and the busyness always leaves me breathless. It's almost like I'm the one who has to do all the work to bring forth spring, and when spring finally decides to show her face, I can relax.
It could be a monstrous combination of all these things. Or it could just be that I need a nap.
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