This happens every year. We endure winter’s cold regret and introspection so we can celebrate our budding optimism in the spring with a show of glorious anticipation. By summer, we are top-heavy with promise, ready to take the world by storm.
And then life does it for us. The winds come and twirl all those sweet green dreams around, while hard rain pounds away at purpose, and hail’s sharp teeth ruin whole canopies of desire, until we are felled by the sheer weight of so much arrogance. In the aftermath, our plans are collected like kindling for endless dark days of questioning ahead.
Come fall, we shall warm our hopes again in the bright flames outside diminished forests.