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The breezes of August really have a way of doing that, don't they? Down here it happens a few weeks later, but it always happens.

My daughter was born 8 years ago on August 26, 1999. My water broke early, and I waited for labor to start for a couple of days before having to be induced. When I went into the hospital, it was still brassy, blindingly bright and sweltering.

Then there was a storm, the remnants of a hurricane coming up the coast, that passed through a few days after I brought her home, and everything changed after that. It was all fall and change and golden colors.

And every year since then, her birthday party has been the last hurrah of summer.

What lasts? The ebbing outwardly of refrains from pure love and music. These little steps, are life saying: be kind, be good counsel, play beautifully, trust your self, trust your instinct; and, still, be kind.

I see life from the top down. I see it from above the earth, seeing it in a composite image that is the only mysticism I need. Life is about living, and giving, and letting go on some level. So, the poem that says today is the only today gains it's importance.

But, in those reflective moments when our cores are renewing and seeking what's next, they should be respected too. I can imagine Christ getting very comfortable just hanging out in the garden, and of course from my perspective, on the mountain.

Loss of love is a bad trauma for sure. And loss of true love even worse. A lot of loss you see, is complex. But sometimes like your friend, it 'might' be that doorway to loving still, in broader ways because real love just can't be replaced?

I can attest that to learn to love again is life's most brutal concerto. And, that the continuity to seasons beginning and ending are the vehicle to the venue. While we cannot prepare for everything in life, we do have the seasons to remind us continue living.

And for the musician, or really anyone fully alive, each season's change is an opportunity indeed, to reflect on the footsteps we are taking. More importantly though beyond the traditional myths we attach to our pastoral sensibilities, seasons remind us in ways we do not really think about, to effect our journey.

More specifically for the musician, the seasons are an opportunity to effect one's heart's door to make sure the hinges still belong to the music. Autumn may bring harvest, but for the musician so can winter, spring and summer.

Being a rather unsophisticated soul, I succumb to spring's passion, late summer's laziness, winters seriousness and so forth. But when the human voice sings through my strings and I can feel my giving it back to something beyond in simple joy, the epiphany laden curse of music is scattered back out to our human ocean of emotion towards yet another or someone else's season.

These are the things that last; as well as, how they last.

What lasts? Change lasts. Diversity lasts; therefore, love and (aesthetical, moral and intellectual) beauty last, in various forms. "Tell me, what lasts even after the grass withers and the flowers fall? "

Enter at your own risk.

Ah, thank you all for your thoughtful responses.

I'm really looking forward to heat death, Jim. (Yessss!)

I have a couple of comments.

"Love, kindness, and generosity" are an awesome combination of traits. I fell in love with a man who excelled in all three, and he was a good musician, too. I guess that relationship was too good to last.

To a large extent, we become who we are by the little steps we take. I believe in each individual's responsibility. However, there are other factors. Family of origin is the predominant one. Some people are fortunate enough to grow up in a family with love, kindness, and generosity. Others are not. For those of us who are not, those little steps are much more difficult and much more important.

What will last? Here are some answers from poetry and song.

Ashes to ashes
Dust unto dust
Buildings will crumble.
Bridges will rust.
Mountains will disappear.
Rivers will dry up.
So it goes with everything but love.

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Beauty will fade away.
Eileen Aroon.
Old age will come some day.
Eileen Aroon.
Castles are sacked in war.
Chieftains are scattered far.
Truth, it is a fixed star.
Eileen Aroon.

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Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

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Thanks for writing such a thought provoking blog.

Your best bet is to jump off of the whole thing at the omega point. It's crazy but it just might work. Nah. Noooo!

It's way too soon to write off summer, here. Give it a just a few more weeks at least, pleeeeze?

Sigh, I guess we can't ignore the fireweed, can we?

Well, today was downright hot. We went berry picking on Skyline, and even though leaves are beginning to turn, you could close your eyes and pretend it was July still. Hope you're enjoying the heat, Keith!