Winter and Spring
Summer I like, and Fall I live for. Bright dahlias and zinnias in August and crisp yellow and burnt orange leaves in October. Winter and Spring, well, they’re just roadblocks to Summer and Fall. I couldn’t wait to get them over with.
A while back, I was talking to my mom and told her how much I hated February. As you would expect a counselor mom to do, she questioned me on that statement.
“Why do you hate February? It’s not even here yet.”
“I don’t know, I just dread it. It’s the worst.”
The worst. The words of a millennial. We really have a subpar use of vocabulary.
I thought about my mom’s question a lot. Why do I dislike something so much that hasn’t even occurred? It’s a bit prejudicial. Rather than letting the future play its course or recognizing all of the goodness around me, I was choosing to be negative.
The rain. The 4:30 sunset. This stupid cold. My friend didn’t appreciate me today. She did that all wrong. He doesn’t care. That will never work out. I’m never going to lose all this weight. No one wants to book their wedding with me.
It felt like all of the flowers were dead.
I planted some tulip bulbs in November. It was a pretty easy task of digging a trench, setting them in there, and tossing new dirt on top. I let the autumn leaves lie on top, mostly out of laziness. Each time I pulled in the driveway, I saw that empty mud pit. “So much for being ambitious.” It looked like another unfinished project, my great folly.
There is a fine line between recognizing hurt, grieving, admitting hardship, being disappointed - and wallowing in pity and choosing to stay there. Pity has no joy. I was stuck. I allowed past events, current situations dictate my feelings toward that which was yet to come. I let the dark sky and drapey leaves avert me from hoping.
But the flowers weren’t dead.
February came. I watched the daffodils break through the stony ground. The once droopy azalea leaves perked up and freshened their hue. I couldn’t see it then, but there was work happening beneath the ground. Roots extended. Leaves developed. My tulips begun to tore through the decaying leaves. It was uncommonly warm.
March came with a cold snap. It was easy to go back to pessimism, except the flowers remained. I am not sure how they survived. It’s like they were holding on to something. I still hadn’t raked away those dead leaves. There was a persistence.
It turns out those leaves had a purpose. They knew their death meant warmth for that which was yet to come. They had sung their song, and now it was time for a new melody.
Nature prevails.
There will always be Winter. There will be bleak times when there seems to be no color. I have to look a little harder to see those pockets of color - in the hellebores, the pansies, the evergreens; they pop against the grey backdrop. Even the grey is beautiful at times when I take notice of all the different tones.
There will always be Spring. There will always be allergens that make it hard to breathe. I can curse the pollen that causes the pain, or I can thank it for the beauty it brings. I can prefer the brighter tones of Summer and Fall but I can also love the softness of Japanese magnolias, hydrangeas, daffodils.
“…and hope does not put us to shame.”
Here are some photos to show that Winter and Spring aren’t so bad.
