“Bye now ... I envy you, treated to all that beautiful white.”
“And I envy you,” my cousin answers back, with a chortle of laughter “not having to shovel it.”
I hang up the phone and stare out my window at the explosion of coloured leaves on-and-under tree limb, that is nature's gift to me, this day ... while my prairie kinfolk, a mere thousand kilometres away, are the lucky spectators to a marvelicious light show ... an hours-and-hours-long, thirty centimetre deep ... cascade of glorious sparkling snow.
'Seasons', I whisper aloud ... yet again, struck by the epically sweeping profundity of change that is connatural to all life ... though no where, quite so conspicuously ... than in the change of seasons.
Seasons paint and repaint and repaint ... the scenes upon which the days of our existence play out. They impart visuals, sounds, scents, weather ... and even, at times, touch and taste to our world ... At the awesome, and perfect, convergence of time and sun and orbit and the tilt of this planet ... a grand new plethora of wonders is laid before us ... nature ... in all its magnificence.
Thus, the seasonal changes are deeply rooted in all living things ... how we receive them ... how we relate to them ... how we enjoy ... and rejoice in them. For me ... and for many others, I have known ... the depth of response to the changing seasons is, at times, transcendent. The metaphor, intrinsic in seasons, is repeated over and over throughout our lifetime ... spring ... summer ... autumn ... winter ... rebirth ... growth ... aging ... ending. It is beautiful ... it is moving ... and it is spiritual. Perhaps, that is why so many of us keenly relate ... and feel an abiding concord with nature ... with the natural flow of life as we witness it ... again and again ... in the coming and going of seasons … and in embracing it ... find peace.
To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven
photos: Whistler in the Winter Season – H. Bourke
© 2019 Wendy Bourke
© 2019 Wendy Bourke