The Meaning
In between seasons of change
Coming into the Autumn of my years — when I was seventeen, faded memories of seasonal change — summer dying with no more regrets of getting everything the mind tells me to do, done on time with nature’s pull. Reflection of childbirth’s glorious song — young teacher’s rising onto their own two — allowing growth and learning as they see fit.
Mother Eagle, tossing their children out of the nesting place — allowing wings of the wind, carrying heart’s ancient tune — spellbound by self-accepting truths, unfolding love welcoming others into inner caves of knowing self on cosmic levels. Mother, father — watching as the littles take first flight, then the next — blazing new flight patterns, seeking wisdom ever-present and waiting for self-knowing.
A songbird sings — not because it has to but merely for having a song. Alerted breath — painting great canvas with Technicolor varying chorus.
Transitioning songs — inspirited transmuted memory of traumatic or favorable choirs — singing a new song for all to hear. Leaving keys on an allegoric table — others’ finding locks unopened to previous selves — remaining on neutral ground — observing others finding their way home.
Seasons come and seasons go — like people stepping in and out of the present moment — non-attachment to cornucopia’s conglomerate of past, present and future tense. Painful memories of the lighted way — stepping into darkened cavernous contemplation of another year passing — world turning faster and faster.
Quick change artist — wardrobe change of silk skin covered flesh — remaining true to the path set to wisdom — knowing every road comes to an end. End of an era — new beginnings, like a chapter out of our story told — received only by auditory gateways to inner truth.
Soon the darkened months will pass — cold, shivering bones reaching for the warmth of the budding sun — breaking ground for another springtime birthing of consummating self. Another season’s passing — cyclical message on loop pedal’s complementary vibrational carried tune — into the darkness wholeheartedly, like a downward slope only to rise again on a roller-coaster fanatic climb.
Seasons come and seasons go — heart opens wide to each new offering of Canvas’ ancient song.
~ Ani Po
Pondering the seasons of change and whether there is a preference for one or the other, my mind wanders the countryside. Contemplating a favorite time, I am left with the in-between of seasonal change.
All-or-nothing kind of attitude, thwarting me into the coming season, left with anticipation of changing winds. Entering the autumn of the year, literally and figuratively, giving thanks for the summer months, my heart-song telling tales.
Cooling breath of winters nearing hold, embracing the shivers from root to crowning auric fields. Pausing for a morning cup, open to the slowness of molasses on January morn.
Open to the stories of the coming season, reflecting back and into future chapters, recording new knowledge and that which no longer serves me in these current times.
Fiving thanks to Ravyne Hawke for teasing me with this prompt, Diana C. for her invitation inward, and Spyder and jules for their continued support of the pilgrims marching home.
Loop pedal activated, life’s for the living, not worried about damnation…
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