Ah, how the preludes come in waves, so ironically overlooked, yet more blatant than the very sun. Ever shifting is the land, moons of drought or prosperity, peace, and conflict. Even though surroundings are stripped away, and vulnerability stirs, I find comfort in these transitions- that roads are being traversed, progressions transpire, and destinations come ever closer. (If destination indeed exists in the journey of a life)
These occurances are not only happenings, but sparks, catalysts. No event is isolated from another; nothing happens without a reason, great or small. The otiose only lies in the beholding spirit that selects stagnance over embrace. I find excitement in the tumultuous, the uprooting of the status quo.
Because it just might mean metamorphosis for those who engage it.
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