The years pass in tumbles of valleys and peaks, some Novembers pummel you with their dark matter and others glimmer with hope and overwhelming affection, these are the rules of the game, and if you want to play you must consent. The ways the dice fall are out of your control; this you must accept, too. The newspapers scream about the coldest holiday in a hundred years, the metaphors scare you in your feigned bravery, winter lies impossibly long ahead.
But for one short moment today, I took a deep breath, looked at the rubble of my life, and saw little spires of life twist their way out of the dusty ruins, new green like the shoots of spring. For one short moment, I remembered to step back and see past the storm, past the encroaching polar night, and I saw that I was grateful, for everything that led me to this point, and everything that leads me beyond.
I accept the rules.
Thank you.
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