Let’s write in shades of real and brave and unscripted.
Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.
Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
From this prompt: WHEN THE SEASONS CHANGE . . .
So . . .
Sometimes I slide from one season to the next,
like gliding into my favorite silky top.
I face the change with anticipation and excitement.
Like this spring when I’ve been enamored with every shade of green.
Every dribble and splash of color.
Pinks and whites and yellows and lavenders.
Every white explosion.
But sometimes I change seasons like my grandgirl tries to wiggle out of a pair of dirty, wet soccer socks and sweaty, too-small shin guards.
I see wrinkles, and there’s pain when the tight expands.
The old clothes don’t fit perfectly, but they’re comfortable.
And I feel protected.
There’s empty at season’s end.
Even in moving from winter to spring, there’s a stripping of layers.
The protective blanket melts.
I become more vulnerable.
Part of me dies so more of me can live.
From fruit to more fruit to much fruit.
When the seasons change.
Now go see what others spilled from through their fingers.
And maybe put on your brave and try it yourself.
“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” ~Anatole France