Spring, Suddenly

For as long as I can remember, spring has always had a way of sneaking up on me, no matter how anxiously I await it. Somewhere along the line, while I’m too busy hoping for the days when I can step outside and be met with a warm breeze instead of frosted grasses, everything begins to bloom seemingly overnight. And so suddenly, the spring I waited for is upon me now, and the pink budded trees shower me with their petals as I move through my days.This spring’s arrival is not exception; I was shocked when the sweet scent of all thr flowering plants passed me by. My eyes followed its upward waft to see sun soak, saturated colors all around me where the grey of winter once made its home. Instead of usual cloud covered skies and grey bark, I saw a blue horizon and flickers of green leaves.

It’s easy, while in the heart of winter, to believe that the harshest season will last forever. How, in this same place which was once so barren, can life be so apparent, so unabashed, so loud mere weeks later? But year after year, spring persists. If you look for it, you begin to see signs of old seasons, even at the height of new ones. The seeds of April fall over the remaining brown, dried leaves of November, just as the moisture from long ago melted February snow will nourish the sweetest of July’s homegrown tomatoes. The seasons work, as all of nature does, in perfect balance; the whole world sings in perfect harmony.

I wonder, as I watch a bushy tailed squirrel climb the same tree where a firey red cardinal is perched, if the animals can hear nature’s song as I do now. Do they know their roles, how they carry seeds and help new things grow? Do they learn their place in it all as I do now, or are they born with a certainty I have never known?

I hope one day the seasons no longer sneak up on me as they do now. I hope I begin to recognize the way the cold, wet days of March give way to the pollen of spring and the chilled nights of early September make space for golden autumns. Maybe even more than this, I hope I master the ability to let each season be what it is. Instead of wishing away the stiff heat of summer, or complaining that winter’s bitter cold is lingering for longer than I can bear, I hope I can continue to remind myself that each season has a song, perfectly composed, that blends into one another like one long, cyclical piece of music, if only you decide to stop and listen.

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