March 19, 2008 § 2 Comments

The day was stuck on one color, like a record needle stuck on an LP song, playing over and over, with no one getting up to lift the needle or bump the record player jumping the needle to the next groove. 

No, the light never changed though the sun was behind it all somewhere. There were no shadows, no gaps in the grey. The single note played on and on.

Still, birds sang as I stood at the stove, watching butter melt in the crepe pan. And for those moments, looking down at the pan and hearing the birdsong, I was confused about what season it was.

It sounded like Spring.

It felt like Change.

It’s a good thing to live where there are seasons; the spirit is always full of hope. About everything.


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