I have a lot of thoughts on my mind today as the year morphs from November to December.
Sometimes the effects of passing time are abrupt, often without warning:
Like the balmy, beautiful South Bend Autumn who shifted her frosty gears to a biting, bleak Winter.
Like my good friend who lost her mom over the weekend.
Sometimes the effects of passing time are seen afar off, on the horizon:
Like the closing of a decade, an epoch, an unabashed youthfulness of one's life.
Like the baby who, after nine months of the most careful and miraculous crafting, creates new parents.
Sometimes the effects of passing time are yet to be seen:
Like the line upon line and precept upon precept of becoming.
Like the page after page--both consumed and penned--of intelligence.
The wonderment of passing time--in its splendor or pain--is nothing new. Neither are the efforts to describe or covey such.
But as the crux of the human experience, it never grows stale, it never remains static.
It never ceases to evoke the deepest reflections of my soul.
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