Seeds and seasons

My pen became silent. It stopped writing, flowing, and describing what I saw and the stories my head created. I look at the posts from a year ago on this Blog. A year of change, reflection, laughter, love, tears, heartache in those deep places you don't know about until you've woken up in the morning and felt the pain come rushing forward as though it had been waiting for you to wake back up. 

But, Then the year transformed. 2013 was the year I learned Genieva. I learned I was stronger than I thought. I learned that I could find myself in the craziest things, like lying alone on the floor in bookstores getting lost in the words of Steinbeck, Hemmingway, Wilde, and Dahl.  I learned it can be a treat to spend time alone. Real alone, where all you can hear are your still thoughts and the wind through the trees or the man playing his banjo. That real is good. Real, vulnerable, free flowing is good. Never hide it. I learned about seasons and stories. Seasons come and we think those dry ones are the unfair ones where we plead why? Why another season? You then realize that just like the soil on this big earth, we don't see during the winter what it's doing. We don't the way the soil is resting and the seeds are rebuilding. They are preparing for something big. Something beautiful. That's our seasons. 

I learned to jump into those seasons ready to ask what? What is next? Then it shows. You see it like a connect the dot puzzle where the picture slowly forms before you and even when you think you know what it is, that last dot transforms it once more. I saw the jobs unfold, the people come in to my life, the memories, the laughter, the learning of myself, and so much more. 

2013 was one of my wildest years. It was one of my lowest yet my highest. It was revealing. It was bold. It was a monumental one. I wish I documented more. I wish my pen didn't become still. 2014 is a new seed of a year...My pen won't be still.