I’ve been in the occasional habit of reflecting on the change of seasons. It’s not just that seasons mark distinct stages of a continuous, circular cycle experienced in the natural world; they also provide convenient reference points by which to monitor a single year of life.

I sat in the park yesterday on a cool, overcast day in the green grass watching dandelion flowers and the bees flying among them. I took a few deep breaths, and I tried to think about where things stand at the moment. I couldn’t really think of anything other than just what I was seeing around me. I couldn’t really come up with anything remarkable about the winter that just ended, and I couldn’t really formulate anything particularly special about the season coming up ahead. I’ve been busier than normal, that’s all I could think. I feel like I’ve been working hard but not really making progress, but rather just maintaining where I’m at, which for some reason seems harder to do. It’s sort of like being in the middle of running a long distance and not being halfway done and having to maintain a steady pace just to keep up and eventually, with any luck, reach the end… wherever that is…