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The seasons of life change slowly in my city. It has been a spiritual winter for some time now, and I’m forced to walk down this hidden path into tomorrow. As I look back, I see direction, but looking forward is a blinding experience of shifting realities, and icy relationships. I know I have a year or two till I cross the river and stand with certainty on the other side of these times.
Spiritual Elements still exist, but their muse is tired and praying for change. Symbols are spun into postmodern fragmentation at times, as the center spins without direction. Still the cycle continues, for the most part, without interruption. This season will pass, leaving its mark of my pages of my life.
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