I was looking through old pictures this morning, and stopped at a photo of the first purple crocuses I saw this spring. I've made a game amongst my children and me of pointing out those first sentinels of spring, and am always excited when one of us notices them. Those little flowers, sometimes purple, sometimes white, occasionally yellow, are a sign that while the mornings may be crisp, and I may not have entirely been able to pack up my winter coat just yet, warmer, greener, longer days are in fact coming. I look forward to these spring feelings, and welcome them every year, but my body greets all of the seasons with distinct emotions.
With the turn of each season I am aware of a change inside myself that mirrors the changes nature is going through.
Winter signals a need to slow down, to be still, quieter. During winter I spend a lot of time reflecting on the time that came before.
Spring always feels like waking up from a really long, restful nap. It feels like the best of mornings, when you greet the day bright-eyed, fully refreshed and ready for just about anything. Spring is for planning and organizing and beginning.
Summer is a time infinite possibility. The days stretch out before me, long and seemingly never-ending. By the time July rolls around, it feels like there is time enough for everything. Summer can be a double edged sword though. The illusion of so much time can be startling when the days begin to cool and shorten.
Fall. Oh, fall. If I lived somewhere with more temperate (read non-existent) winters, fall might be my favorite season (don't tell spring). Fall comes in with so much urgency. Sunset creeps up minute by minute with each passing day, and even in September, when nature is still slowly relinquishing the heat of summer, my body still knows what season it is. It urges to me to double check to-do lists, bring projects to completion and pack my days before winter comes.
I definitely have my preferences, but I have come to appreciate the place each season has in my life.