The seasons. They always change.


This weekend on a walk with my dog, I passed a tree that was alive with the sound of dozens of birds chirping madly.  Their song had an urgency to it.  I stopped and looked up into the tree, listening. “It’s coming,” they seemed to be saying.  “It’s coming! Spring is coming!”

I smiled and kept on walking. Before long, I couldn’t hear the birds anymore, but their message stayed with me. Suddenly I noticed the little signs of spring all around.  The sprigs of new grass, new stems popping out of the ground, and tiny little buds on the trees.

I’ve seen posts and pictures around the web the past few weeks of sunny skies and blooming trees and flowers, but here in Vermont it has seemed like spring would never come.  The excitement of a warm day is squashed by sleet and freezing temperatures the next.  I walk back in after leaving the house so I can get a hat and warmer coat.  My heart has been ready for spring, but spring has just not been here.

I’ve been struggling between what I want and what really is.

As I surveyed every single sign of the changing season, I wanted to run back to that tree, climb up, and kiss every one of those little birds.  I wanted to thank them for reminding me that this winter season will end.  There is always a new season ahead.

Many years ago, I cried through a post where the author talked about her journey toward accepting the seasons of her life.  I, like she, wanted everything to happen right then.  I was tired of waiting for things it seemed everyone else had already gotten, had already figured out.  I felt behind, mixed up, like a failure. But slowly — very, very slowly — I stopped fighting against my own timing.  I accepted the unique rhythm of my seasons.

Still, sometimes I need a reminder.

I can get caught up in the feeling that everyone else is standing in a field of daisies, and I’m still mucking around in  my snow boots.

And then I’m so grateful for a little bird to twitter in my ear that though my coat is zipped up to my chin and I’m still wearing mittens, there are buds on the trees.

Spring is coming.

3 thoughts on “The seasons. They always change.

  1. Once when my husband and I were on vacation we took an afternoon siesta in our room (which was quite dusty). The sun’s rays shone down in streams from a window up high and lit up the pieces of dust. We laid there on the bed watching the dust float and change colors like the surfaces of CD’s do in the sun. Out loud, we marveled at the changes in color and patterns. I learned that afternoon that I can never be bored and can always be content if I pay attention to the small details around me. All is beautiful if you notice it.

  2. This is really, really beautifully written. It is also something I needed to hear today. I’ve been rushing through things lately that will all too soon be done for good and I know I am not cherishing the moments as much as I will wish I had years from now. So I just wanted to say thank you for sharing this.

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