So, I'm back from Toronto. Delivering bedroom furniture from one city to another, a four hour drive away, is not as effortless as it sounds, especially when it involves the actual planning, disassembling, packing, carting into the truck, unpacking, and hauling it up the stairs into it's new home. The effortless turns quickly into daunting when you're well into your fifth decade. At one point close to the end of the two day process, it suddenly occurred to me that I had done this before. Twice, as a matter of fact. I was birthing the daughter into her new life.
Looking out the window just a few minutes ago, I was relieved to see that the two day rain had finally turned to snow. The process, though not unexpected at this time of year, seemed prolonged and anguished, unable to settle on it's preferred state for any longer than an hour or two. The scene outside changed from a light drizzle to heavy rain to a mixture of rain and snow and back to rain within minutes at times. The birth of a new season, I thought. Profound thoughts or weather-headache induced delirium?. The latter is the most likely explanation. But, when things are  a struggle, and enormous effort is needed to just get through the hour, most often our thoughts turn to all kinds of self-reflection. But the reality is this, all change is the birth of something new. Whether it be a new address, a new season or a new life. It is always messy.