Seasons move across the face of the earth
as a cloud across sky
or a breeze across meadows.

Colors change,
air chills,
hearts churn
in response to the natural seasons,
but seasons exist that are far beyond these.

There are seasons of life and of living
whose changes rest not upon the leaves and the air,
but upon hearts and souls of men and women.

These seasons, like others, will cycle at times,
but unlike the rest will be defined
by changes that simply remain.

For natural seasons move in a circle
while seasons of living move in but one way.
They move like an arrow or, perhaps, like a spiral,
but ne’er will return to a previous day.

I sense myself in a season of change.
Desires in my heart.
Longings and pains.
That were not a part
of who I had been,
but I’ve since found
these longings within.

Seasons change, not over night,
but slowly through time.
And thus have these longings
been on my mind.

The seasons are moving,
are changing around.

A new season.
A new song.
The clouds are floating.
The breeze is blowing.