I love all of the seasons. Each one has its purpose. Each one, its beauty. Each a delight to weary hearts.
Spring brings life from what appeared dead or what, in some cases, was dead. It is time for sowing, beginning anew, setting planned things on their right path, healing over the pruned and scarred places with brand new flesh. I like the soaking rains drenching thirsty earth. I like the bright, tender, succulent new leaves. I like the born again, the rebirth, the life bursting forth from the dreary, heavy ashes.
Summer, the time of working the sown life. It is the time of bending down into the hard work of doing, leaning into the usefulness of the body and mind. What was learned new in spring is practiced and tested in the fiery summer furnace. I like the heat on my hair. I like the cool lake water, the salty sweat to wash off at the end of the day, the surprise thunderstorms with fat drops pounding into the ground.
Autumn comes with harvests of every color and shape and size and texture. It shows us that our imaginations are pitifully finite. It is the time of more, different work. It brings the work that prepares us to slow down. Before rest comes, the home must be ready. I like the crisp chill of the air. I like the work of preservation: stuffing jars with summer’s bounty, sealing them up, and setting them on freshly washed shelves. I like the sunrises and sunsets, the bright sky softening, the fullness and richness of the days.
Winter, the time of waiting. It is the chance to tuck in, get cozy, and rest. It reminds us to stop, weary traveler, and take a moment. It is the time of reading, handiwork, mending. It is the time for home. I like the fires. I like the hand-knit socks, the fuzzy pom-poms on the tops of heads, the toasty fingers tucked into mittens. I like the sharpness of the air on my face and in my lungs, snow angels and icicles. I like the soups and stews, homemade breads, and opening jars upon jars of wonderful memories of months gone by.
In each season, we may be tempted to mourn what was and impatiently await what comes. Come now, spring. Hurry up, summer. I can’t wait much longer for you, autumn. When will the temperature drop again, winter?
Let’s enjoy what is happening now with happy memories of what came before and hopeful, but patient, anticipation of what will be.