Seasons

I love the way seasons change. It seems like everyone writes about the seasons and uses the imagery to explain life, which makes me want to avoid it. But I can’t. I love the different stages of the years and how they change, slowly but surely, always coming back to the places they were before; but we have changed, we are different.

I spent the year following my graduation from college in Colorado, and I loved my life there. But I missed the four distinct seasons the same way I missed my family—because they are a part of me. I drove along the highway today, heading east in the middle of North Carolina. The clouds of rain were slowly blowing north and the leaves swirled in the air. When the sun came out, I thought about how much I love these Indian summer days, when the oranges and reds light up the trees but it’s warm enough that jackets are unnecessary. I thought about how I love the seasons, even the bleakness of winter because it makes me hope for the spring. And as my mind wandered to plans for Thanksgiving, I realized that it isn’t just the seasons of weather that I am grateful for—it’s the seasons of life.