In Spring and Autumn, the landscape seems less peopled. (One reason why I enjoy it a bit more, surely!) And although there is much color to discover and many things to notice, it takes a more patient pace and unhurried eye to seek out the changes.
There is a marvelous awakening that comes with spring, a sloughing off of winter's pall and venturing outdoors to greet the apple green that appears slowly over a period of weeks until the entire earth looks new again. In March there are the first buds pushing through the soil, their soft fronds seeming like an illusion and easily missed. There is the random clutch of colorful tulips in amidst dried leaves where weeks earlier there was only the dirty remnants of snow. There are fecund buds along branches that seemed like withered near-dead hands throughout the short winter days. There is the promise of unlimited green and soft pinks and brilliant yellows and rich lavenders as one by one the garden residents lift their heads and spread their stems to the sun and slip back into their finery.
But this melancholy is balanced by a wonderful nesting instinct that takes over as shawls are brought from cupboards and placed over chair backs, and the oven comes alive again with baking, and firewood is readied by the back doorway, and the afternoon sun is filtered through a golden screen of yellowing maple leaves, embracing each north-facing room with a glimmering warmth.
And I, too, shed the raiments of summer.... trading sandals for heavier walking boots, wearing felt hats, wrapping scarves around my throat against the occasional morning chill, swapping out cotton dresses for denim pinafores or flannel skirts.
|"SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!|
|Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun."|