To everything there is a season

Ensconsed in my red jalopy outside the grocery store this post work session my weary peepers chanced upon a glorious sky bedecked with fans of pink and gold and a few careless whisps of the white fluffy stuff rimmed scarlet by the dying sun. There is change in the air – the brassy, strident demands of an “in your face ” summer are slowly and inexorably beginning to give way to a more laid back easy-going autumn.

The current miasmic soup that has long overstayed its welcome is none too encouraging but there is something lurking, I can just feel it. Of course if an apricot autumn went hand in hand with a rain squall or three all would be even and equitable but that’s a whole other diatribe. One’s gaze (well mine does anyway) turns inwards for a smidge of introspective re-examination (I think that’s the right word combo, sounds good anyway). What have I done in the last six months? What have I achieved? Have I made a difference in the greater scheme of things?

And do you know what struck me between the eyes (much like Hephaestus’s anvil gone astray) – absolutely diddly squat! As the never ending stream of bright-eyed lemmings stretched ahead of me on the highway, reaching for the horizon in some desperate attempt to escape the mundane, I realised that it’s ok – the lack of tangible achievement is not a crisis by any description. To whom do your hold yourself accountable, whose yardstick do you use to measure success – if you’re at peace in your own skin then the rest doesn’t matter.

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