"When I first moved to New Hampshire, where this appears on our license plates, I assumed General Stark had said it before some battle or other—a bit of red meat to rally the boys for the charge; a touch of the old Henry V-at-Agincourt routine. But I soon discovered that the general had made his famous statement decades after the war, in a letter regretting that he would be unable to attend a dinner. And in a curious way I found that even more im … Read More
WINTER: “death”- figurative, i.e deep struggle leading to resolution, surrender, rest, glimpses of new visions, thus anticipation!
It seems my life follows this pattern pretty regularly … It is both a comfort AND it is also sobering. I generally life patterns. I find them, yes, comforting. It is reassuring to know that winter does come to an end. The frosty edge on the day does soften as the temperatures slowly, and sometimes begrudgingly warm. And just when I think I cannot possibly endure another chill, the bright spring sun warms me through and through and all is well. The earth blossoms again, and color returns in the form of green trees and shrubs, pastel flowers and the azure sky. Spring.
Then, almost before I know it, I’m sweating. The heat of the same sun beats down, quietly pounding me until I must bow like the cracked earth baked under the summer sun. For days the sun pounds me, breaking everything the previous seasons have shaken loose, all in a healthy “pruning” sort of way. Summer.
The heat seems unbearable and unending. Then, right on time, a leaf changes color. More leaves change color and soon there is a shower of leaves swirling around tossed by a gentle breeze. Aromatic fragrances waft through the trees bringing with it the scent of apples, pumpkins, and spices. A hint of smoke hangs in the air, and it dawns on me the air is cooler. Autumn.
The leaves are piled in the slumbering flowerbeds. The chilled edge has made a silent approach. The trees tremble in their nakedness at the bleak outlook. Color has fled. Black and white with shades of grey paint the panorama. Life itself hides at the sternness of the cold. In sheltering caves life tucks itself away to wait for the passing of the season. Winter.
Seasons are NOT coincidence! They are a means of order in an otherwise chaotic sequence of days, weeks, and months.
This is me. Anyone else recognize patterns, or seasons in their life?