Earth is home to many cycles. The water cycle, the air cycle, the earth cycle are among them. Systemes created to build, break down, reuse, and rebuild.
All of that grinding, melting, molding, fusing, is science’s magic of making one thing into another. While it all follows a pattern, it all looks like chaos. Such is life. Trust the pattern. I trust the one who invented that pattern.
The spending of time is not something we have a choice of. We all do it every moment of our breathing lives.
Like the count of seconds ticking away in a parking meter, we can not transfer them to another payment method once we have decided where to spend them.
But unlike a parking meter, time leaves us with bits and pieces we can sort through. Memories as lessons and discoveries. We could discard them, and lose bits of ourselves, or take those small pieces and repurpose them throughout our loves. Even the sharp, painfulness ones have a use.
Release date is November 2nd. Celebrate with me by shouting from the rooftops!
I plan on also offering the ebook directly from my website after the release date. I will keep you posted on the progress of getting that set up. Thank you all for rooting for me, and continuing to read my work.
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Water is one of earth’s natural mirrors and puddles, the perfect place to start an adventure.
Do you view self reflection as an adventure? I would argue that you should.
Taking a good look at ourselves is scary. Is there something there we don’t want to acknowledge?
There are also many good things about ourselves we deny regularly. Self reflection doesn’t always have to be about our failings. Don’t be afraid to look in a mirror, or a puddle, to see the character that lines your face.
A sound that speaks of acceptance, success, and lifts a smile across determined cheeks.
More clicks trumpet growth as the tower of color grows.
“One, two, three, four, five.”
Hesitation. What color next? Repeat the pattern? Mix it up? A finger taps lips in thought as eyes shine.
It’s just right and belongs above yellow. Plastic screams as hands stir the bin of blocks. It’s a symphony of possibility that makes an adult’s ears bleed, as a child listens to undertones and knows plastic grows.