Transitions in Late Spring

The southeast met me with air heavy with humidity, magnolias in bloom, and the ubiquitous smell of wild honey suckle. It met with all the memories of who I once was in light of who I am becoming.

Refusing to let this new life be all that mattered without first being grateful for all that I have been,

home met me with a love so embodied and intrinsic it must be felt in the quiet pulsing of a forest in the warm afternoon of late spring.

“You may go,” it seemed to say, “but first, you must remember.”

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