Why I need the Seasons

I’ve lived in one place my entire life – NEW ENGLAND. We have glorious, warm, salty summers and unforgiving, sometimes paralyzing  winters. Most people hate winter and with good reason. Aside from the cold, the snow can be very depressing, especially in large quantities, where it forces us inside for hours (or days) and then outside to shovel out the driveway for hours! There is a term here called “Florida birds.” That is a term for retired folks who live in New England during the warm seasons then live in Florida the opposite seasons. I understand their reasoning! If I were rich, would I do the same? Nah.

My husband lived in the south for a good portion of his life. He often comments how he would like to move south and SOON. We have one agreement – not until my parents are gone. Then I am game for almost anything.

If we ever left here though, I would miss the seasons badly.  I can be a fairly moody person so the seasons suite me very well.  Despite the humidity, the summer is my friend. I love that the sun sets so late in the day and the air is warm and salty. Transitioning to my favorite season – FALL always makes me happy. It is the most apparent change to me. The dull colors that surround me magically transform to deep reds, yellows and purples (some of my favorite colors). The weather cools down and I can wrap myself in lightweight sweaters and slip on my clogs. Following that is the beast – WINTER. I find myself somewhat happy to be trapped in the house during storms. I can catch up on office work and READING of course. I love being sandwiched between my husband and the dog under a few blankets, with some scented candles and a class movie playing. There is something so refreshing about transitioning to SPRING. The snow melts away and we are so aware of the earth again – dirt, blades of grass, weeds etc. Dare I say it is my least favorite season – allergies return like a bat out of hell and everything is far too pretty for me – daffodils, tulips etc. Not as inspiring as their dying counterparts in Fall. Spring is really just an imposter – not summer and not Fall but feels like both at times. I suppose most people writing about Spring would consider it a rebirth. I understand it, but it isn’t for me.

These seasonal transitions makes me feel whole. What an odd feeling, really. But what is life though if we do not constantly feel?


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