Change

Seasons of change can seem all tangled up and messy. This afternoon, these beetles caught my eye while I stood in the fresh, slightly cool air, feeling the sun on my face, listening to the crows chatter, and “hearing” my own voice yell “Hi neighbor” across the road, and Dad’s voice calling back. I watched the tape in my mind, as I vividly remembered walking on over. As I approach Dad, I see his arm go up to wrap around me as he says, “how ya’ doin’, hon?” “Pretty good, Dad” is my reply. “Pretty good”

I felt my own peace, just as the beetles seemed to be peacefully going about their business. Upon closer inspection, there is an ant too. Everything has its purpose. To everything there is a season.