Tag: seasons

A Seasonal Reflection

Photo by Efrem Efre

I was born in the late 1980s and grew up in the 90s, so groups like Jagged Edge, 112, and Dru Hill are my jam. Jagged Edge has this one song called “Seasons Change,” and although their song is about romance, it also makes me think about seasonal changes in general.

Toward the end of the year, there are always seasonal changes. You might notice the support is different or that you are different. This is part of preparing for a new season and, with it, a new era.

As the golden hues of autumn deepen into the stark whites of winter, nature offers a poignant lesson in letting go. Once heavy with vibrant green leaves, the trees surrender their foliage to the whims of the wind. It’s not a loss but a graceful shedding, a necessary preparation for renewal. 

“Every time the seasons changes we do too. Nothing remains the same, neither should me and you. Gotta have faith in the way that he moves, as the seasons change.” – JE

If I could have glimpsed how this year would end, I would not have chosen to write about joy. I would have chosen overcoming or something more relatable to the times. The truth is joy has been a struggle. I look around the world and wonder if anyone cares anymore. I realize there is a time for everything. In the words of Zora Neale Hurston, “I have been in Sorrow’s1 kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and a sword in my hands.”

For this, I am reminded that although the seasons do change and nothing is the same as it once was, it is joy in this release, a quiet celebration of trust. Autumn reminds us that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting but making space. The crisp, cool air carries the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of something new. In letting go of what no longer serves us—old habits, lingering doubts, or past mistakes—we find ourselves lighter and more open to the possibilities ahead.

With its stillness, winter teaches us to embrace emptiness’s beauty. The bare trees do not complain, but in the dead of winter, they stand tall against the snow, a reminder that strength remains even when we’re stripped of adornment. There’s comfort in the quiet, a chance to reflect and rejuvenate. Letting go allows us to rest, dream, and trust that life cycles will bring renewal in our own time.

See how joy can be found in letting go. It is not a loss; it’s a transformation. Like the seasons, we evolve, finding beauty in the shedding and the stillness. And as the days grow shorter and the nights longer, we learn that the most profound growth often comes in the quietest moments.

  1. Dust Tracks on the Road by Zora Neale Hurston ↩︎

Don’t forget this year’s poetry contest. The theme is joy! Submissions are Open now through December 1st (Midnight). Click this Link to Enter!

The Habit of Rushing Time as We Age

Photo by Jeffrey Paa Kwesi Opare

A 28-year-old might say, “I’m almost thirty.”

A 38-year-old might say, “Wow, I am almost 40.”

A 48-year-old might say, “Sheesh. I am almost 50.”

Rarely do we appreciate where we are without becoming anxious about where we are going.

I wonder why this is and if it keeps us from being grateful for where we are. Sometimes I wonder if I fully appreciated my twenties when I was in it.

I guess that’s why they say hindsight is 20/20.

My twin sister and me talk about this often because we don’t like to rush our age. When we turned 36 this year, we didn’t say, “We are almost 40.” We said: “Yay, we are 36!”

This doesn’t mean we haven’t thought about approaching 40 (cause like, do it hurt?), but we don’t like to rush our age time.

I am not 37 until I am 37 and not forty until I am 40.

I hope to keep this outlook on life as I age into my 40s, 50s, 60s, or however long I have left.

Instead of saying how much older we are getting, perhaps we can enjoy every minute of where we are now.

Embracing Change

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The trees have sealed the spots where the leaves are attached, not allowing fluids to flow in and out of them, which change color and fall off.  The falling of the leaves does more than mark the season, it also helps the tree survive the cold, dry air of winter. Humans are also preparing for the dropping temperatures of the colder months. Where fire places are lit, winter blankets make their resurrection and even men’s hearts grow cold with the heightened stress and violence that occur during the holidays. As November eases its way in and we prepare to wrap up another year, my thoughts settle upon change.

It’s not always easy to embrace change. It is something that happens so frequently in our lives and yet remains something new; moving in and out of our day with the same glide as oil to a pan. Starting with a puddle and then auctioning pieces of itself off into different directions. This is not easy for us to do; to forgo tradition for a road less traveled by. To be reborn in a way that blows our minds and challenges us to become different. To think and to act in a way that is new; to adapt to a foreign idea or practice.

Those crippling brown leaves, the ones that have hardened across our front yards, begging to be burned or thrown into the trash are not pleasant to see. But if the tree did not embrace the change coming upon it, sealing the spots where the leaves grow, it would die. When spring brings warm air and fresh water, the tree will sprout new leaves and start growing again.

Like the unmovable tree, standing so bold against the bite of winter, and naked with vulnerability, I challenge you to change your routine for the sake of incorporating a new experience into your daily lives. Mine will be getting back into my workout routine, and cutting back on snacks.

While change can be difficult, it comes with a kind of strength that can only be experienced to define, and has the potential to open us up to endless possibilities, causing our minds to stretch beyond the limit. Embracing change, in short, frees us from the captivity of routine, and the stagnancy of ritual.

A Time to Read

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In Shreveport, it started off with a collection of rain drops. They took the opportunity to brave the cooling breath of the skies for a chance to taste the ground. Some of them managed to lick rooftops, light poles, and the hoods of cars; relaxing liquid bodies into the cracks of the earth. But others, others were not so lucky. For the clouds let loose its storage place of wind and paralyzed their bodies midair. They had not the privilege of melting before their frozen futures hit the ground, many of them solidifying into ice cycles and poor trees. You have been suckered into shedding your skin again in the beloved south. Not moments after you begin to bud, the once soft petal of flower must choose not to photosynthesize, but to hibernate more inside that place where flowers go when they do not yet exist.

But what of all of this?

While I do not enjoy the cold (at all) it is a great time to read. And after the glaring sun the crisp bite to the air is refreshing. It is the time to find a good book. To lock yourselves into your dwellings. To warm a pot of tea, hot chocolate or coffee. To curl your legs into yourself and bury both your body and mind into the warm and compassionate world of words.