The Seasons Within Me

I used to think that, for the most part, summer progressed smoothly into autumn, and autumn into winter, each day taking the next step on the way. Then I began to pay attention. Each season often has a pause, as though the earth is having second thoughts and is reluctant to let go of what has been.

A few days of unseasonably warm weather in autumn is often called Indian Summer, and yet it doesn’t feel like summer or autumn, but something that is all its own.

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In Yosemite, Leidig Meadow is an earthy brown color with an aura of yellow. Each morning, the barely moving Merced River has skins of ice on pools along its edge that melt away within an hour. Sunlight gleams bright off the hard granite domes and peaks as the sun leans lower in the southern sky.

The air hesitates, too, as if nature has hit the pause button. A light jacket is enough to stay warm. The leaves on the trees are filled with colors. The clear blue sky is sharp and deep, and not yet soft with the scatter of snow crystals high up in the atmosphere.

This pause can last a few days or a week. Then the season shifts back into gear and each night is a little colder, and each day the daylight is a little shorter. Then the last of the autumn leaves drop, late blooming flowers release their colors to the air and draw themselves back underground, and the rich warm hues of the meadows turn brown, black, and mauve.

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I pause, too, and let the rest of me catch up. There are seasons changing within me. As I let go of the endless activity of summer, I open to a quieter season of reflection.

Yet each season calls us to grow, reflect, learn, and change. Creating isn’t limited to summer, nor reflection to winter. Each season pulls out from us another aspect of our personality, and pulls us inside to deal with something else.

Each season we step away from what no longer is and step toward what will be. Each season challenges us to grow.

Each day we are born again new.