In a year, there is a season for each feeling; a feeling for each thought; a thought for each experience.
Winter, spring, summer or fall- all you've got to do is call. You know the rest.
Yet in each season, no matter which suits you best, there is a promising storm. Always unexpected and not usually welcome.
Stuck inside. Left to wonder when this visitor will be on his way.
You stand at your window- watching, waiting. Wanting for this downpour to pass.
And you think.
You think. Reminesce of memories past. Dwell on current hardships. Wish. Pray. Hope.
The storms give us time if nothing else. Time to mentally take a break from the day in which we struggle. Time to walk over to an old record player and watch the black vinyl dance on a needle. Time to look into a snow globe at the mesmorizing specks of glitter that worlds ago was to you- prancing fairies if held against the light. Time to open up jewlery boxes and place old chains around our necks. Time to look into the mirror and remember what it was like the first time these jewels adorned you.
And we stop. And for a time, all is forgotten.
The storm has moved on to offer a break to another.
Winter, spring, summer or fall. You know the rest.