Seasons

Today I awake to the sounds of rain hitting the metal roof of our RV before dawn rises in shades of gray and peach.  The rhythmic noise of large drops plopping and smaller drops ticking is like an old, bedside, windup alarm clock.  It is comforting.  The experience draws me back to an earlier time in life when I lay beneath the metal roof of a Key West style home in the South listening to the same song.  This memory of a once loved home brings forth a smile.  I decide to linger longer beneath the sheets to enjoy the gentle awakening.

Traveling north, I am keenly aware of seasons.  The south, with continual mild weather and sunny winter skies, has now been replaced with volatility.  Skies can change from blue to overcast and then to downpours of rain within an hour’s drive along Interstate-5.  Fog weaves its way between fir covered hills evoking comparisons to Japanese landscape paintings.  As we climb to higher elevations, tiny flakes of snow greet our windshield briefly.  Even in winter, however, the greenery of fresh grass, ferns and firs is painted across the gray background, promising spring will eventually prevail.

Now whenever I am outside, the air is brisk and invigorating.  The task of layering clothing against the cold is welcomed.  In the effort to brave the chill, I sense with satisfaction the tugging of my Scandinavian ancestor’s genes.  As we travel, the movement of my fingers with knitting needles to create a scarf to add to these layers is satisfying.  My brother once said, “Winter is a time to enjoy curling up in a warm, comfortable chair with a good book.”  Winter is a time also for indoor creativity and working with your hands.  I feel the urge to tackle a dozen indoor hobbies wash over me.  The pleasure it evokes is immense.

I have missed the seasons.  I am grateful to return to them.

What The Rain Reveals

How many, if not all, memories are there waiting for the proper stimulus to bring them forth in a virtual step back in time?  The same mind and person lives within this ancient body.  Only the constraints of physical deterioration can claim the joy of being a child again, and my steps seek out puddles and broad yellow leaves in my path.

As rain storms slam into the California coast in a much needed deluge, I choose a break in the downpour to get in a walk.  This is winter in San Diego.  The temperatures are in the fifties and I enjoy being bundled up in a heavier coat.  Strolling along wet streets near a flooding creek racing through the canyon where our RV park is situated, I catch a scent of mud and water that brings me back in time to a creek running behind my childhood home.  Memories of exploring that watery channel flood my mind, and I smile.  Childhood is but a mere whiff away in my mind. 

Tree trunks with a texture like grey velvet or mottled marble intrigue me as I walk past.  Reaching out, I touch the grey strength of a towering monolith of a tree with branches beginning twenty feet above my head.  I marvel at the soft smoothness of its bark.  Wrinkles in its bark make my mind contemplate its likeness to shark skin.  These sentries seem comforting, as I walk by a row of these trees skirting the boundary of our RV Park.

In the middle of an urban world, the RV Park is sandwiched between an Interstate Highway and a railroad track.  The noise from both is endless.  Yet here, hummingbirds treat themselves to the nectar they find in the flowers of a bottle brush tree.  I walk picking out components of nature to nourish my soul, yearning to be surrounded by the quiet of a remote forest.  However there is a lesson nature imparts, if one will listen to its whispers.  Nature will find you anywhere in your world.  But only if you are willing to open your heart, your eyes and your senses.