The sun is shining through the window, the brightness should make me warm. But there is a chill draft, a shiver runs up my spine. The sky is bright blue, almost white as the feathery clouds drift by. The breeze is calm and gentle like a lamb. Reflections of spring are hindered by the memories of winter.
The winter was harsh. The snow came late. The winds off the lake, as always, were penetrating, chilling the soul as well as the bones. The wind-shield factor hit -40 even during the day when the sun was supposed to relieve some of the bitterness. A sun slack on its job, no heat, no cheer. To sit inside by the fire became a career rather than a past-time. It was too cold even to open the store--no business anyway--too cold for even the heartiest customers to brave. When the snow finally fell, it fell in force for days with no letting up. The temperature rose only enough to allow us to safely go outside to shovel the snow, but it was still cold enough to warn us not to linger.
Believing in the cycle of Mother Nature was the only thing that got me through the Ugly Winter of '93 - '94 in Michigan. That and the hope that I would live in Arizona or New Mexico by the time the snow fell in Michigan again. Spring has always followed winter no matter how mild or tough, so I sit and wait for the robins and spring flowers to suddenly appear again as they always have before. I await the balmy breezes of spring and the gentle rain. Dark weather in the spring time is so different than dark weather in the winter.
Just as I am beginning to really relish the springtime, though, Summer will butt her nose in, dusrupting my serenity with her radiating heat, the stink of the city rubbish baking in the dumpsters, tempers flaring in frustration of unrelinquishing swelter, kids breaking the fire hydrant caps for relief.
Fortunately, in my opinion, summer is the briefest season. Soon I am rewarded for my patience with the warm sun and cool breezes of Fall, my favorite season. Not too cold, not too hot, fall is my buffer period between summer and winter. While spring is a welcome visitor, fall doesn't bring the rainstorms that overflow in the streets. Fall is calm and beautiful, painted by Mother and blessed by Father, a time to reflect and plan before the treacherous winter blows in.
So here I sit, by the window, waiting for spring, dreading summer, anticipating fall, and having survived another winter, happy to be alive.