B eyond the rim of snow banks, around the bend where the trail angles into the trees, lies an expanse of white as unexplored as a blank page. No matter that countless sneakered feet and bicycle tires ply this path in every season, on this wintry day all traces of humanity are scoured away by the wind’s husky breath.
In my search for existential truth, I would have settled for some directions.
There is nothing wrong with self-improvement, but when it comes out of self-loathing it’s negatively fueled and likely to fail. Change should be a product of self-love.
S now sugared the lawn and whitened the balsam wreathes at the twin bay windows flanking the front door painted red as holly berries. Lacy flakes drifted to earth, one tethering itself to the sleeve of the old black wool jacket that Delwyn Edward Morgan wore.
D uring the holiday season, it sometimes seems like the whole world is wrapped up in presents and material possessions. Kids are writing their wish lists to Santa, adults are trying to find the “perfect gift” for their special someone, and mall parking lots are jam-packed with eager shoppers. I had always been just as guilty as the next person of harboring this fraudulent yuletide spirit, until a few years ago when I learned what the holiday season is truly about.
Whether you await a Child or you long for Peace on Earth, or you strive to see goodness in the abyss of heartbreaking news, it takes attention and intention to turn away from the darkness and embrace the light.
I cannot stop time, or deadlines, or the pressures of my chosen profession. My only choice is to become more mindful.
