There is something to love about every season.
In spring, the work of months culminates in a graduation. A new season awaits. Another year passed. Another pocketful of memories and lessons for all. Including me.
Summer is adventure. Fruit picking, ice cream, fireworks. (One of my sons is licensed to light up the sky. So fireworks are a family adventure.) There is baseball. There is swimming. There are rainstorms to clean the air.
The end of summer brings fall, a new school year. A new set of students getting ready to go or just arriving. These are important days. They are meant to prepare us all for what will come ahead.
Winter brings more work. More of those important days. But it also brings the occasional snow day. It is a small piece of a season.
And there is something to love in that small piece.
January storms are the quietest. You exit your house to silence or a whispering wind. A distant train whistle interrupts. But then, more quiet.
As spring approaches, storms get louder. March storms are the noisiest. Walloping winds. Barking birds celebrating winter’s last gasp.
Today, a February storm. I exit to find the quiet of winter. Neighbors’ snowblowers hum. I see an older neighbor I haven’t seen for awhile. I’m surprised to see he’s cleared his own sidewalk–with a snowblower. I tell him it looks great. He says, “Thanks, darlin’.”
Up the hill, I no longer hear the blowers. A wind chime sings in the light breeze. Then, the quiet. Sunshine makes slush on the road, even in the cold. There is only the sound of my feet plodding, the dog’s paws padding, the walking stick keeping time.
The train whistle.
As I step on the porch, I hear a lone bird. A harbinger of spring. I hope to ski a few times over the next few days. The snow will not linger. The season will pass.
Back inside, I see the view through my kitchen window. Much the same through the last 39 winters I’ve lived here. The tree has grown and been cut and grown back. Things change but remain. Snow blankets each twig and the garage roof.
Time moves. Seasons repeat. But each new one is never the same as another.
Each piece of time brings memories and makes new ones.
Today, I want to revel in a piece of the season. Find the quiet. Hear the train whistle. See the beauty.
For tomorrow will be a new day. And a new piece of this season.