When the myrtle trees begin to flower, I always feel the season shift. Their soft pink and white petals lining the streets remind me of the first summer I officially moved to Houston. I can still recall the strange mix of uncertainty and hope that clung to my thoughts. And each year, as the blossoms return, so does the memory of how far I’ve come and how much I’ve changed.
Over time, I think I’ve evolved into someone softer, but also someone who carries the warmth of summer. I’ve learned to love the golden hours that stretch longer than they should. I’ve grown into someone who no longer rushes through seasons, but embraces stillness. I’ve learned that storms will roll in unannounced and that life never quite stops being uncertain, no matter how long you stay or how far you’ve come.
We don’t hold life, not really. But that’s where the beauty lies. Like summer, life unfolds in seasons with its own timing, its own surprises. We can’t plan every storm or bloom, but we learn to meet them when they come.
So I keep going not always knowing, but always hoping. Hoping for more warmth than cold, more light than shadow. Hoping that, like summer, life will continue to return with something new, something tender, something worth waiting for.
Pocket 