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October 2, 2009

Somehow the seasons here in Wisconsin have a way of weaving themselves so completely into my mind, my emotions, my very life that they become more than just evidence of the passing of time, but an essential part of my own self. Last winter I felt as if my entire being was yearning for the newness of spring, as if the budding of leaves and grass would bring about the rebirth of my own heart. This summer felt more alive, more verdant to me than usual, and I’ve been relishing every aspect of fall (although I have yet to see a single red leaf. Fall isn’t fall without the russets set in a frame of gold.) This year has been an especially seasonal-ish year for me.

I think that spring brings potential, newness, promises. I find it impossible to enjoy the smell of fresh earth and the scent of new dandelions in spring without feeling my heart lighten. Summer is a rich and luxurious green. If spring is promises, then summer is sultry and passionate. Summer runs in my veins and intoxicates me like new wine. Winter is the season of opposites. It has a cold and distant beauty; it’s both untouchable and renewing. And yet I think that winter is one of the friendliest seasons, because my family stays inside; we enjoy each others company over hot chocolate and tea. My life is simpler in winter.

But my favorite of all seasons is fall. If winter renews, spring promises and summer intoxicates, then fall is fulfillment. Fall is the crowning glory of nature, the perfect blending of each season into a climax of nature. The promises of spring are realized in harvest; apple blossoms become rosy apples, new green leaves mature into golden crowns and russet cloaks. The new wine of summer ages into the golden brandy of fall, smooth and sweet with just enough bite to keep it interesting. And even winter adds to the splendor of fall, giving a brisk reminder each night to appreciate each moment while it lasts and creating appreciation for cozy fall quilts and cuddles with loved ones.

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