It’s one of those lovely, sunny, blustery days. The trees are alive with the wind, and the sun is warm. Meanwhile the sky is blue and bright, with tiny white clouds that make it look like the whole canvas is deeper, and higher, and bigger than ever.
I’m in the park of course, listening to the roar, and watching the shadows dance.
I have to make some big decisions. For reasons I can’t explain, the next six weeks feel like they might be significant, a time to figure out with God, what the next bit of my journey might look like.
It would make sense. I’m 42.5 now, and if you believe in the numerology of 7s, that means I’ve already lived through six cycles of life, and it’s time to transition into the next one. 42 days seems quite the thing.
I know, things can’t really be as accurate as all that, and neither do I really like the thought of change, but if it’s clockwork or not, I do feel different. And that difference inevitably leads to change.
So the clock starts on a loose six week period I’ve set for myself. Perhaps I’ll figure out what’s what, perhaps I won’t. I’ve got to give it a try though.
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