“...that time between Summer and Autumn which I call The Pause.”

It was sweaty, uncomfortable work—pulling, digging, and squatting—that left me with sore fingers, forearms, and legs.

It was miserable and unimaginably satisfying.

Most living things are not meant to be always growing.

No matter how beautiful or impressive the shape of survival, this is not what my tree was meant to be. I can both admire what it is and grieve for what it was.

We are a pluralist society. We will have to choose each other to survive.

By archly announcing my preference for a rival of one of the most iconic items from southern cooking, I can whip up some sort of declaration of rebellion and faux controversy. It’s a riff on the real presence of entrenched identity battles.

The truth is what enables the parody.

“Except a creature be part coward it is not a compliment to say it is brave; it is merely a loose misapplication of the word. Consider the flea! Incomparably the bravest of all the creatures of God, if ignorance of fear were courage.”

— Mark Twain

The change of seasons may be delayed much longer than our hearts would desire but it has never failed to arrive.

That thought renews my hope.

If you are still entangled in a static system… there is a chance in this season to break free. It’s okay.

You can take a severe pruning.

Attempts to stand too firm against natural elements…can lead to frustration. It is ultimately misguided.

We may mistake a flower for a weed, cutting out that which, if we let it, could become an object of our delight.

A man-made system was so fragile that a single point of failure killed all but the most aggressive species within. Life was restored by leaning into the brokenness, adding new roots, and refusing to rebuild the old, frail system.

Describe your favorite place (or places) in the world. It can be a place you have visited on vacation, somewhere in your home or neighborhood, or somewhere that doesn't exist anymore; a place that feels both safe and peaceful.