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.