I wrote a post in late December where I tried to say that I found no useful meaning in the end of a linear calendar year, and the subsequent ‘beginning’ of another. I then proceeded to write word upon word espousing the opposite of that sentiment. The bug has struck again to write about the season. I love Spring. Or, whatever it is that constitutes Spring in Northern California. March and April are my favorite time of the year. The sun returns from wherever it goes during the baseball off-season. The days become longer and the chill and cold begins to subside. Smiles return. Everyone seems to collectively stretch and re-group from the dark embrace of winter. There is glee in the air upon the return of life. Even the explosive growth of weeds is greeted with profound joy. There will never be any site as beautiful to these blue eyes than an Oak tree in full bloom.
We don’t really have four distinct seasons. We know what Summer is. That on is hard to deny. The heat is so unbearable, so constant, and so intrusive that you become delirious; Convinced that the world couldn’t possibly rebound from such torturous conditions. It’s Biblical in nature and duration. There are plenty of masochists out there who swear by it. Many of us cope with it.
Summer is what we are. We are defined by it. Fall is given to us not by nature but though advertising and the God damned deplorable Pumpkin Spice Latte. Winter is short and forgiving compared to other regions. Yet, we are not folk who take kindly to the darkness, or shoes, or pants, or long sleeves. We soak up the cold. Store it in our bones. Feel it in our lungs. Try desperately to summons it through will and magic in July and August.
But Spring. Oh, how wonderful is Spring. On occasion we are not blessed with more than a few weeks of Spring. I get the feeling that this year will be different. We will have a Spring and it will be glorious. Even typing ‘Spring’ fills me with happiness.
I love the sound that ball and bat make from the parks nearby. I relish the sound of cheers from stands filled with overworked, underpaid, and stressed out parents. I love to see families riding their bikes and walking their dogs. I love windows down in the car, and open all night in the house.
This is when we grow. At the end of the year we reflect on the past and plan for the future. In the Spring we implement. We take action. We plant and take root. Harvests do not come when fields are not nurtured.