Yesterday my husband and I drove to our northern home. Today I sit at my other studio work table, in front of a view that includes aspens and pines. There are thunderclouds low over the hills. I am north again, and will be until next March.
I am the opposite of the migrating birds I see in the sky. They are leaving for the warm hug of weather in the south. I want the cold, snowy Winter. I want the clear, crisp air and the crackle of frost and ice under my boots.
I want to smell snow coming, and witness the first snowflakes fall from a heavy, grey sky. I want to feel them melt on my cheek, so gentle a touch, present and gone in the same instant. The first snow is always fleeting, Winter hesitant, touching the farthest edge of Fall.
I love the change of seasons. I love feeling with all of my body the movement of time. I love how each season stands forward in its fullness, then moves back a step at a time as the next season comes forward. A dance, step and step, forward and back, each season partnering the ones before and after.
I know I am a Summer Girl. It’s true. I love Summer best. Warm sun and cool shade, iced tea with lemon, long slow evenings and a bright moon. Something in me saddens at leaving Summer behind.
Yet that same something is anticipating with joy the touch of those first ephemeral snowflakes.
All seasons are sweet to me because of the change, each season precious because of its particular joys.
The seasons dance around me, dance within me. I would have it no other way.