Summer storms are blowing through the valley, sweeping remnants of allergens and pollens with them, making way for new allergens and pollens to settle in. I’m watching Agatha Christie’s Poirot, the best, in my opinion, version of the many Poirot adaptations available. I am curled up with a blanket and longing for cool weather. I was not built for the heat. My genetics rebel against it.
We’ve had a rotten summer, to be honest. There was a health scare recently. And a car wreck. And family members moving. And school starting. And life perpetually lurching forward with the bedraggled exhaustion of a steam engine. I too am exhausted and nearly out of gusto.
But, none of this matters. It is just a season. And like all of our seasons, it will pass. It will give way to the lurches of life and send us careening down the rails to the next emergency, the next heartache, and inevitably, the next great loss.
Along the way, however, there will also be victories. There will be happy tidings, and warm laughter, and a few months from now cool, night air and fire pits and big cups of cider. We will pass through the valleys of despair and then rise to the heights of joy. Up and down and around we will go, chugging along, waiting to see what’s just around that next turn.
None of this matters. And yet, all of it does. Taking note of the lurching and the seasons and the passing of time matters. It matters because it makes us who we are becoming. It grows us, changes us, evolves us into an amalgamation of spirit and flesh, all wrapped up and ready to ferry our way across to the other side when our time is up.
So, yes, it does matter. It matters even when it doesn’t. And within that tricky conundrum we reside until our steam engines finally slow to a crawl and pull into the depot one last time. And hopefully that depot is still a ways off for me and for you. And hopefully we will pass through enough valleys to make us appreciate what we have and over enough mountains to give our weary souls a respite.