Monday, September 5, 2011

before the summer ends...

Wow...the last few months feel like they never happened. Not that nothing happened. I had my fair share of adventures, but really...it's September already. I feel cheated. There ought to be at least two more months of summer. Instead, yesterday I mowed my lawn for what will probably be the last time this year. My potato plants are dying. I'm wearing coats. I even considered turning my furnace back on. And worst of all, no more greenery--it will soon be replaced with the slow steady onslaught of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns.

*sigh*

There was a point in my life where the advent of fall/winter was met with complete and utter joy. But that particular point in my life was also the intersection of school holidays and parental financial aid, which helped immensely with my pursuit of various winter activities. Such as skiing. Snowmobiling. Sledding. Things that I rarely have time for or cannot afford. Stupid adulthood. Why have you cheated me of such happiness? Now I have to think about paying for heating my house, driving on ice-covered highways with people who should never have been given a driver's license in the first place, and making it to work on time after a snowfall of three feet lands on my driveway.

But not yet. I still have a few more weeks. Maybe even a month. Perhaps more. I know the snow is coming - it always does. But when...that's the question. And I will be ready for it. I always am. I complain about it more than I used to, I know. I even pretend that I hate it. Hate the cold, hate the snow, hate all the extra little inconveniences that the season throws at me. But I deceive myself. Every fall, every winter brings with it remembrances of seasons past, memories of the beauty that came before, of the beauty that is leaving, and the beauty that is to come. For it really is something to behold. The fall colours, with all their bright glory, like palm branches of honor, heralding in the winter months. The winter snow, with its cleansing power, its months of jubilee, its promise of a resurrection.

And spring will come. And then summer again. As they always do. The same yesterday, today, and forever.

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