Seasons Change

I am sitting in my kitchen, staring out the picture window into the backyard. As a rule, I don't care for windows that don't open, but it's a rainy day. I don't like to let the dampness into the house anyway. The rain is filling up my kids' sandbox; they left the lid off of it again.

I'm often surprised by the way the seasons get all mixed up in Florida. I mean, just last week, we had three nights in a row where the temperature was below freezing. My little orange tree is drooping, and my lemon tree lost about half of its leaves. And, yesterday? It was eighty degrees. My neighbor's peach trees are in bloom, and I spied a tiny yellow butterfly flitting around the blossoms. The dry winter has given a way to wet spring in one week? Not really, no. Tomorrow night, the low will be 35 degrees. It's all so strange to me.

And yet, our life seasons can be that way, too. I'm two years away from the dreaded forty, so I guess that puts me right on the brink of the Autumn of my years. I have half a lifetime of experience, wisdom, joy, and sorrow. I think I've seen it all, and nothing can surprise me anymore. I'm full of good advice and stern direction. The leaves seem to all be falling and crunching under my feet. And then I'll be surprised, now and again, to find a blooming in my soul--something new, something unexpected will begin to blossom.

Perhaps I'm too introspective. Discovering I like fish after years of hating it isn't really such a big deal, right? It's not like I learned a new language, or took up skydiving. And it's not even that I always want to live in the spring. I love autumn--the stiking beauty, the brilliant colors, the simplicity, the contrast. It's the season I was made for. But, every now and again, it's nice to see a daffodil pushing up through the dirt.