Seasons.
This month, I have a tiny poem for you first:
Apricot ice cream
reflected in the glass
of an upper row of windows
on a romantically decorated facade
a sunset sorbet — that’s what it is
I smile to myself as I pass by
savouring a slice of dried mango
tears in my eyes
I know it’s a blessing living in a city with old, elegant buildings and cobblestone streets. Tasting beauty with many senses, many times. A castle on the hill. Historic ‘tic tac’ trams zooming around. Trust me, I am passionately aware.
During my first few years here, I would float over to the prettiest neighborhoods every chance I had. I fell in love with this city by diving into it, being everywhere, exploring and re-exploring. But now, I escape from the cars and the noise to the park around the corner from my flat with its comforting canopy and consistent offer of peace. Plus my latest enthusiasm: cycling through the trees and all along the riverbanks.
Everything has its time. Even things you wish would never expire. Even love stories.
Do you know this one?
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted…”
Ecclesiastes 3
If I were to choose a line, it feels like 6 now: “a time to seek, and a time to lose.” However, since patience is a virtue I’ve been tasked with learning, there’s tension because I can’t immediately see or know what I will find or what I will lose. I just have a sure feeling that some change is coming, shifting, sifting.
My challenge? Resisting to plan, to control, to manage, to hold the reins, and to meddle, essentially. No wonder I forget to let go of my breath. Are you holding yours? What season is it for you? A time to…
Now, I tentatively welcome you, August, month of nostalgia. I will be waiting and trying to trust. (Ps 27:14)
With love,
Solée
