To everything, there is a season.

An oft repeated quote.

There is always night and day, rest and movement, work and play, thought and action, winter and summer, dark and light, rain and sun, empty and full; death and life.

As days shorten, trees rely on the length of the sun's time to remind them to drop their leaves. Without the darkness of night, turtles could not see the moon; lighting bugs could not find their mate. In sickness, one is forced to slow for a much needed gaze upon one's inner self.

Too much rain and there is flood; too much sun and there is drought.

Balance.

Often, we forget that pain is natural and - as much as we try - cannot be avoided. There comes a time when nature must have her way, for her way is wise and unflawed. For thousands upon thousands of years, nature has kept creation alive in the ways of season and balance.

Only in the last century has humanity's desire to overpower the natural way bled out of their inventions. Only when humanity wished to do everything possible to avoid suffering, did the dull and festering ache cover them.

Death feeds life, and life returns to death. From the dirt that was once alive, vegetation grows for the stomachs of the living. Death must be allowed to feed life.

But even, if one understands all this, death is still a great barrier of acceptance.

8-19-22