Seasons

Life moves in seasons. My life moves in seasons. Often these seasons match my journals. I have had seasons that were plain and simple, a little color sprinkled in. I have had seasons that seemed leathery, hard, easily stained, yet valuable and so beautiful. I have had seasons that were small, black, lonely. I have had seasons were maps and planes prevail, and others where a simple green tree sprouts on the cover. I love that my journals match my seasons.

I agree with Chris Rice "Everyday is a journal page, every man holds a quill and ink, there's plenty of room for writing in, all that we do, believe and think."

As the final pages approach, my heart is filled with conflicting emotions: sadness for a friend long visited is saying his goodbyes and eager expectation for what is next. Prayer always precedes the purchase of a new journal. I ask Him where He is taking me next, and He responds. So, Lord, what's next? will it be the hand-painted cover? the one that looks like an Indian sari? The one with geometric shapes in vibrant colors?

While I don't know the specifics yet, I do know that this next season involves me writing. So here is me writing, for no one in particular. This is simply the season for it.