Just as a voice travels through its passaggio from the chest register to head and back again, so are the seasons of the year.  Little by little the shift takes place, and before we know it, so are we now moved from one season to another.  Such was the passaggio of my world today.



golden leaf



missing berries

new england asters



wild chicory

How long can it be before we look back on the cusp of our seasons, and realize that the passaggio has taken place, seamlessly, smoothly, bit by bit, without us being aware of it now?

self portrait

I have a feeling mine may have already happened.  I’m OK with that.

75 Septembers–Cheryl Wheeler with John Gorka

Be well, and at peace,


Explore posts in the same categories: Buddhism, creative stuff, Life, Meditation, music, Photography, spirituality, Uncategorized

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