| It is just barely warm enough for branches I'd left for dead to prove me wrong.
Bits of green are causing me to lose my bet. Winter will not last forever, as I'd thought.
Pink petals are kind, and do not shout "I told you so" as they fall to the ground on the same day they bloom.
Spring may have surprised me again, but I still cannot believe in summer.
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| I've never begged to hold on to the past, but I would really prefer if no one else would make it their present or future.
This is not a luxury I've been afforded.
If you let it go, someone else may pick it up and make it their own.
I wasn't prepared for this.
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| I wish for my transitions to be as smooth and quick as the dusk - as clouds sink beneath blackness and the light drips into the horizon.
Or that my transitions would be like the leaves as they turn over, fade to brown, and glide to the ground with certainty that a new beginning is only a winter away.
But my transitions seem slower, sluggish, haphazard - more like a bear stumbling from a deep sleep - disoriented with no idea how this new surrounding has appeared. Yet there is a driving, sustaining calm.
It is all changing, but somehow it is all the same.
New day. New leaf. New year.
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| The glow of the city is obscuring my view of the stars.
Oh to see the stars to gaze beyond what I can touch to get lost in a world I cannot hold.
But here in the city everything is too close for comfort too easy to own too small to hide.
The fluorescent glow is pale and the haze merely blocks my view of true light.
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| Oh Lord, God of our Fathers This day, let it be known That you, Lord, are God of the present tense
Oh, I've said this all before. I am sure you are all sick of hearing it. Sorry. Here it is again.
Mary, stop planning your own life. Mary, focus on what is in front of you. Mary, you may have ideas, but it won't turn out how you think. Mary, your only fulfillment comes from Christ. Mary, he has made you with a purpose. Mary, you are not your own. Mary, humble yourself.
Thanks, Mgmt.
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