“There is a season for everything….”
Thanksgiving falls from the lips in hues of yellow, red and orange. On crisp feet, it roams the countryside and frolics in autumn breezes. It cuts a “V” through the sky traveling great distances on sturdy, steady wings.
Giving thanks lies buried in permafrost, frozen in veins which sluggishly,
reluctantly draw it toward the surface. It crawls up the back of the throat and slips through numb lips. In the frosted air, it shatters like fallen icicles.
Tenderly, tentatively thanksgiving pushes beyond yesterday’s tundra and leans into remembered promises. It breaks through the ready soil and unfolds, petal by petal, in the subtle warmth of spring. It flourishes in newness, freshness and expectancy growing in cycles of hope and grace.
Hot blasts of gratitude, sweaty with sentiment and humid with happiness, flit about. Lightsome and playful, it cascades down the slide of life, tumbles, and rises to begin again. Gleefully spinning and swinging high it pumps possibility and joy into the world.
Such are the seasons of thanksgiving. We don’t choose them. They don’t come in rhythmed, measured cycles. The heart knows the seasons and entrusts them to the Heart that receives them in season and out of season.
To everything…flashes of color or shards of crystal, greenness of shoot or waves of heat, there is a season.