SEASONS

2. b : the four quarters into which the year is commonly divided

I packed up the flannel sheets today.  Folded away snowflakes and snowmen.  Tucked their softness into a bin.  And remembered how happy I was a few months ago when it was time to pull them out of that same bin and put them on the beds.  Recalled the delight in slipping under them for the first time, their softness and weight bringing sleep as a gift.

I love every season when it arrives, fall perhaps most of all.  The heat of summer seems to bear down on me, making it harder to move, to think, to do anything.  Fall offers reprieve from heat's oppression and points towards Thanksgiving, then Christmas, my favorite times of year.  But this winter has worn long.  It has kept us indoors, snowbound, for far more days than I am accustomed to.  Summer's heat I have long dealt with.  But snow for days on end?  This is a battle where I lack training.  I know how to combat the heat - with water to drink and swim in, trips to the art museum's cool interior, a morning movie in a darkened, air conditioned theater.  Snow?  I can offer you some hot chocolate and pancakes and let you watch some TV.  I don't have much beyond that to offer.

So after a long winter, this spring is especially welcome.  From our bathroom window, I've watched one of our trees for signs of buds, then blossoms and have been pleased when they've appeared.  I've looked for green day after day and been glad to have it greet my eyes more and more often.  I've opened windows, cleaned out closets, tried on sandals.  I've been able to smile as I folded and put away flannel sheets.  Thankful to be moving from one season to another.

This is life, isn't it?  Never static, always moving away from one thing, towards another.  And here's how I want to be able to live it: thankful for the season just arriving, grateful to have lived the one that's come and gone.