I wish I could live in a world made of summer. A world of bare toes and browned skin, a world of cold drinks and thick novels alongside the pool, a world of early sunrises and late sunsets, ice cream cones and fresh flowers, morning birdsongs and evening crickets chirping through an open window; a world of lush green everywhere you look. I could live in a world made of all these sweet summertime treasures.
But just as sure as its arrival is the inevitable fading of this idyllic season. Without fail, year after year, summer dissolves into fall. The days get shorter and shorter, each morning more crisp, each rain falling colder. And dream as I might I’m faced with a world that operates in seasons; winter comes no matter how hard I wish for a world made of summer. Want follows abundance, dark follows light, hardships follow ease, death follows life, and winter follows summer.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.
There’s no doubt about it, winter is the hardest season for me. I welcome its coming at the beginning. The magic of the first snowflakes softly drifting down, the eager anticipation of holiday festivities, the cozy blankets and mugs of hot drinks. But then the darkness sets in, the world feels bleak, and it seems completely unfair that I should have to work hours past sunset. By the time I scrape the windshield for the eighteenth day in a row I’m ready to escape to the beach, to a tropical paradise, to a world of eternal summers.
I’m over at (in)courage today. I’ll meet you there with the rest of my musings on summer’s exit and embracing our right-now season.