transition... not yet finished

I bathe in the sun, not with intention of a blush, but for the comfortable warmth it brings in spring. Yet still, my skin mottles red. Buds, a promise of emerald, sage, olive, jade, and lime burst open with life anew and dance upon meeting the breeze. And I gaze upon the first rose of the season, brave with color, paving the way for the flamboyant procession sure to follow. All of nature transitions, and I am startled by beauty, even if I did expect it.

And then the north wind blows once again. Cooler air settles over the bursts of color carpeting the ground. Flowers shiver beneath the breeze, and so do I.

Transition is like that. Transitory. Seasons come, recede, and thankfully (or sometimes regretfully) come again. The movement of life does the same. Seasons come; they go. Sometimes they are all welcome and stay for a time. Other times they are unanticipated and stay far too long. Sometimes they offer beauty and sweet fragrance, comfort and warmth. Other times they cut with frigid cold and long storm-filled nights.

But by grace, all of life is transition. It moves, undulates, and is shaped by the hands of a Potter who knows His art medium intimately. And we, the vessels of His Hands know the change. We live it moment-by-moment, change unto change. In transition always... Not yet finished.