I sit and I mull and I think about how I just want to be quiet and I don't know what words to say, don't know what words to write. I feel talked out and yet needing to talk but I don't know what I would say. Journaling doesn't hold any appeal, it seems to require further introspection when I feel like I've peered within too much already.
So I'm quiet.
And I continue living each day, doing the things that I know need to be done and yet I want more.
I want to live. I don't want to just exist.
And then it comes. I knew it would.
Transition. That concept as much as a word that means passage from stage, position, subject to another.
I realize that this is our transition time, a turning of the pages, a new chapter begun.
In fact, all of life is a transition. From one familiar place to another unfamiliar at first. Like a dandelion in all its bright yellow glory to its magical seed head that is blown and scattered like fairy wishes.
It's not an easy time. But there is always grace. And there is always mercy. And the caterpillar becomes a creature of beauty.