There are four seasons. Each are unique and different, supporting qualities
that make them what they are. The year begins with a continuation of winter,
slowly transforming itself to spring as the months wear on. Spring grows into
summer, which bows into fall, which wilts away into winter again to
repeat the cycle another time.
Spring makes itself known in a series of airy rainshowers that alert nature to
unfold and “spring” from its dormant hideaway. Warmer weather coaxes plants
out of their hibernation. Seemingly overnight the grass regains its color, and
trees and flowers begin their timely reproach back into the world of the living.
Leaves grow from tree branches, and blossoms seem to emerge out of nowhere
to remind the world they have not abandoned us after all. Nature takes its leap
into existence once again. The air seems to thrive with the feel of life, and at last spring is underway.
Spring soon gives way to summer in a wave of heat that stifles the air until a
warm breeze comes and picks it up again. Birds and insects appear with a sense
of fulfillment. High temperatures send us reeling, and the air is full of
contentment. Some plants wither and die, bowing their heads in defeat. Others
reach to the sky, drinking in the sunshine and victoriously braving the heat like
soldiers in a battle for their freedom. The air is teeming with life. You can lift a
rock or boulder and find a small nation thriving underneath.
Summer drags on, and as it comes to a close, the day holds a reminiscent power. Days of leisure are slipping away. Nature is retreating into itself, preparing for the transition into fall. Even the birds are not loyal, fleeing to warmer climates as the cold creeps in on us. Autumn comes furtively and quickly, hardly acknowledging itself. You wake up to find a subtle change has taken place. Wind whistles through the trees, tugging at the leaves against their will. Some come quietly, others resisting. They are a collection of various colors. A gift from the rainbow. Blanketing the ground in a sea of burgundy and yellows, crackling beneath your feet. You feel as if you are walking on a soddened canvas and worry you might stumble and ruin it, so you tread carefully and lightly. As the end approaches, autumn makes a steady decline into winter. The leaves now litter the ground, curling into brown ashes, retreating into the earth. Only a lone leaf hangs on a branch, and you watch as a cruel biting gust tears it from its foothold and sends it spiraling away into the sky, coming to rest somewhere having given up and given in.
Winter frost takes over in a burst of sharp cold winds that nip at our faces,
blowing old leaves this way and that. The grass is turning yellow and the flowers
have long since departed. They now lie wilted and brittle on the earth, waiting
again for spring so they may pick themselves up again and start over as new.
But in the meantime, snow begins to fall and the dreary atmosphere soon
becomes new and amazing. Light glistens through the tiny snow and ice
granules that flicker to the ground. You are standing in a snow globe that
someone has turned upside down so that the snow drifts around you in great
heaps. Everything is concealed under this great white sheet of winter. But then
the snow melts, and we are left with sludge that has turned gray and drab from
dirt and exhaust of passing cars. We are left with the dreary sight of withered
lifeless plants that once were living alongside everything else. When the year
ends the winter lingers on, but slowly and faithfully progresses on to spring,
summer, fall, and winter once more
