one season ends, another begins. a bird flies toward warmer climate and a new home is left for those winter friends left behind. every beginning is an end, and every end a new beginning.
it was a windy walk that morning. we knelt beside the fallen nest and wondered where to put it. i carried it with me and thought of favorite stories from favorite childhood books. mousekin nestles into wintry discarded pumpkins that slowly close with cold and snow, leaving a cozy home inside for hibernation.
as i cupped this creation made by another, i felt grateful for found treasures that inspire. it reminded me that all things lay dormant, sometimes even my photography lays dormant… but it never leaves me completely. as i reached for my nikon and tripod that morning, it felt really good to come full circle.
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i wrote the above words for everyday storytellers. funny how when time passes, our own words take on even more strength than the day they were born with ink and paper many months previous.
all things come full circle. packages arrive that grow girls up into mothers sooner than they are ready. tears fall. arms embrace. he says he’s here if i want to talk. i tell him it’s hard to talk through tears. he says he’s here if i just want to cry. and so i do.
when i inherit things from my mother, i have a mouth full of bittersweet. i don’t want these things. i want these things. i want her to have these things: her things. she’s too young to not know how to use them anymore. perhaps knows its now my turn to keep these things, my brothers and father know this. so now i hold the dinner bell she used to ring to call us home. now it’s my turn. and i step into her shoes somewhat unwillingly, being pushed too soon by fate and the dementia that takes her from us. and i know one day my heart will be strong enough to call our boys home, and her bell will ring loudly through these woods.