The Changing of the Seasons
Some Thoughts and a Poem
As I sit writing, I can see the leaves — that have already changed color — falling in a cascade of hues, from brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. It makes me think about the upcoming months.
Not everyone experiences the changes in the same way. I suppose that, in a way, I’m lucky. I get to see four distinct seasons, each with its own charms and annoyances. There is something about a cool fall day, with the sun providing a wave of warmth, once the wind dies down, that makes you feel that the year is winding to a close. Fall weather feels like fall weather. That is, even though the sun is over the same latitude as it is in spring, it seems just a little bit cooler. Probably because we have gotten used to the warm/hot summer temperatures. In the fall, temperatures that force us to don long sleeves are the same temperatures in the spring that make us stand in the snow with shorts and a t-shirt.
If you live in the higher latitudes, you get those wonderful long days of summer, when the sun stays up late and outdoor activities seem to just keep going. Ever go golfing at 9 PM? It’s pretty sweet. Going to bed is often a challenge since the lingering twilight can mess with your internal clock. Whether you are a night owl or a morning person, those twelve-plus hours of daylight are going to make you happy.
Spring always has that sense of renewal or rebirth as it awakens from its hibernation. Humanity seems to creep slowly out of its shelters, pallid faces soaking up the sun’s rays. There is nothing like seeing the new leaves and flowers bringing color back to the world. My one annoyance about spring? Pick up your dog’s poop, people! I even see it in its little bags, tucked into snowbanks. Oh, and the slush.
I have written several poems on the environment, so here is a poem from my book, Lines by Leon: Poems, Prose, and Pictures:
The first snow covers up the grime
The dirt fights through a bit at a time
A battle of earth and sky
Who will win and who will die?
Spring washes the battleground
Rain washes the warrior found
Summer pushes up the green
Blanketing evidential sights unseen
Fall sheds the season’s growth
Leaving skeletons, nature’s ghosts
What about winter, you ask? Well, ask me to write about it in January…