You asked for a photo challenge about growth in midwinter Indiana.
Ah, the repulsive squelsh of filthy slush.
And how could this possibly represent growth?
Perhaps it doesn’t, not to you. To me, it does.
All growth is a series of transition, moving from one season to the next, Newton’s inevitable prophecy of upness versus downness, winter blossoming into spring. But before winter cleverly slips from our minds so easily, it always does this first.
It slushes. It convinces the road salt to pick at the paint on our cars like hangnails. It slobbers on our floors, leaving half-solid drools of ice on the carpet. Winter hits a very ugly puberty before it ever dreams of spring.
Yet, it changes. Like you.
And, most selfishly and most importantly, like me.