The seasons of the soul

all pass on, inexorable 

as time and weather.

Eventually, by good luck

or by Grace, from all

your striving or perhaps

 in spite of it,  you arrive 

at a place that fits your life,

and wish it had always been

this way and you hope

that it will ever so be,

only to awake one spring

morning when the light

whispers change, and know

that beyond this moment,

everything will be different.

Terrified and elated,

you step through the door.

Henry's books.



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