All My Love, Gennavieve

I love seasons. I love the anticipation of change and the excitement of what is to come. I love looking forward to days of summer sun and tanned skin, to the crisp air of autumn and the turn of leaves in their color, to the celebrations of winter and the reasons we gather inside, to the newness of spring and the fields blanketed with wildflowers. Yet, I often find myself hesitant to accept seasons of change within my life. Instead of anticipation and excitement, I am filled with fear and dread of what is to come. I am crippled by the unknown and stuck in a trap of comfort which threatens growth, keeping me stagnant, frozen. What would happen if I embraced the constant change of seasons within my life as I did the seasons of the calendar? What freedom would I discover in choosing to anticipate good, beautiful, and unique things only found in specific seasons? Would I not know, more fully, happiness and laughter if I embraced the sadness and depression? Would I not walk willing

Westcliffe is a small town in Colorado nestled at the base of a towering peak. It is quant, quiet, and eclectic. It's Main Street houses two little coffee shops, a general store, some antique shops, a wood work store, an unbeatable burger shack, and an Amish bakery. The people are simple and sweet. Not the sort of simple which confines them to the narrow judgment of a small-town mindset, but the simple of enjoying each moment the day brings. Every Wednesday the small square is filled with the tables and tents of the Farmer’s Market selling the best jams and jellies, produce and pastries. I approach the market with empty bag in hand and something tasty in mind. I explore the herbs and produce. I decide on some peaches from a man whose companion was a tea cup poodle laying in a doggie bed on the table guarding the peaches, or so I assumed. “What’s his name?” I ask. “Brutus,” the man responds. “He’s a watch dog.” “Guarding your peaches, I see.” “No, no,” the man quickly