Said the sun to the moon,
You cannot stay.

Says the moon to the waters,
All is flowing.

Says the fields to the grass,
Seed-time and harvest,
Chaff and grain.

You must change said,
Said the worm to the bud,
Though not to a rose,

Petals fade
That wings may rise
Borne on the wind.

You are changing
said death to the maiden, your wan face
To memory, to beauty.

Are you ready to change?
Says the thought to the heart, to let her pass
All your life long

For the unknown, the unborn
In the alchemy
Of the world’s dream?

You will change,
says the stars to the sun,
Says the night to the stars.

~Kathleen Raine

I’ve been pouring through family records, noting dates, reading bits of stories in the midst of illness, weddings, graduations, death, war, tragedy even pandemics. A great aunt died as a child of the Spanish flu in 1918; a grandmother moved far away from her family to work, live and marry; a son left home to further his studies; a great, great, great, great, great grandfather declared himself a Loyalist and moved his family to Canada. Change is a normal part of the process of life. Some may be unexpected, unwanted, resisted; but normal. And as I walk about this property where I live I am struck by how beautiful this season of change is. Every day I find it inviting, alluring, breathtaking, restoring and poignant. Even now, as I recognize different parts of my life are in the midst of change I feel profoundly the pull between despair and the promise of discovery. It’s not an easy counterbalance, but I am practicing acknowledging the despair and pondering the possibilities.

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