Seven hand made art pieces are displayed.

None of it Lasts

When my children were young and the days were so intense or intensely boring, I used to remind myself, “Everything changes. If it’s an easy phase, don’t get too comfortable. If it’s a hard one, remember that it will pass.” That turned out to be a good mantra for a lot of things.

Of course, some seasons are long. Especially the hard ones. Especially ones that involve a global pandemic and months of isolation, and then months more of being surprised how hard it is to emerge from isolation.

I’ve just come from a season of sweetness—smoke-free summer days (I know we were just lucky this year), bike rides and swims with friends and my teenagers, time off work, the bandwidth to be reflective and an unusual amount of fun.

And none of it lasts. Not the hardest days, not the sweetest days, and not even our very lives. The changing of the seasons reminds us of liminality, of changeability, of letting go, and yes, of death. As summer comes to an end, may you find yourself held in the rhythms of life, facing whatever your reality is, even loving it. Here’s a little poem about that.

Summer Benediction

Along the trail

you can smell them,

blackberries hanging heavy

in the August sun.

Theater of lusciousness,

fragrant understory,

thicket of black delight.


You might stop and eat a few,

maybe bring a bucket

and get serious about it.


You might notice

how the blackberry vines

are like football fans,

lining up to form

a victory tunnel,

arching over you

in raucous blessing—

Go. Bear fruit. Partake.

Stain your fingers,

find the fleeting sweetness,

love that none of it