It's feels like a quiet season in my heart these days.
I've had a couple of bookends on the calendar that seem to have set themselves around a reflective time. I didn't set out to have "a reflective time." It just kind of happened.
Over the years I've grown more aware of the goodness of ebb and flow, waxing and waning, seasons and rhythms, so the contemplative mood of this last month has felt like a gift to be savored.
By the way, the occasions that presented themselves as brackets around my ponderings include last month's 25th anniversary of Byron and I setting out from the States together and his 50th birthday coming up next Sunday.
I have no great conclusions to draw or revelations to declare. It would be nice if the ruminations manifested themselves in a volume of poetry. Alas, there is no such fruit at this time.
But there is a beauty in that as well. The pausing of my spirit to ponder does not have to "produce" in measurable material. The pause is good for the sake of the pause, whether the outcome is seen and recognized or not.
How sweet, these days, of spiritual rest.