Tuesday morning…

Blue skies.
Sunshine.

A day, no scratch that.
A few hours for me.

Running up and down the downs.
Running through the 5k barrier in my head.
Running to sweat and feel alive again.

Autumn has snuck in,
Cold swirls around my legs in the shade
September sun blazing it’s last warmth on my back.

The world turns, the seasons change.
Decay and death blaze their beauty
Not all dying is death.
Words linger in my mind from Sunday’s evening space.

“The birch leaves are falling, Lord,
yellow diamonds on the green grass,
released in the autumn wind.
But I, Lord,
I still clutch tight the leaves of my old life,
useless, withered and dry.

Teach me to let go of the old-
old hurts and animosities, old troubles and grief.
Teach me to release them into the wind of your Spirit.
to be whisked away,
that like the tree I may rest a while,
at peace within,
then grow again in the spring.”

Not all dying is death,
some things die to give us rest.

Not all dying is death,
some things die to give us rest.

The seed gets buried deep in the ground, and I wait,
The seed has gone and still I wait,

Maybe there will be life again.
Spring warmth, flourishing life we claim as ours
Efforts to grow, summer joy

but now.

we twist and turn to the ground,
buried in leaves
resting
covered
waiting for spring again.

Not all dying is death.
Some things die to give us rest.

I stand on the edge of autumn
I turn my gaze to the horizon
I search for hope, for life
I wait
I rest

I rest my head on the shoulder of the watcher
and I watch
and I am watched.

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