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I
must have been three or four years old when I realized for the first time that
each year had distinct seasons. But autumn intrigued me the most—the time when
the trees and shrubs that had been awash in the green sea of summer, suddenly
started to morph into flaming bushes and fields of fire. It seemed that red,
orange and yellow were splayed everywhere along with variants that were better
than any crayola palette I could imagine.
And
along with the emerging colors came delightful winds that whirred through the
leaves, deflecting light in such a way as to make me think the trees could
actually communicate with me. And then of course, came Halloween and
Thanksgiving, which made me believe that the trees were a part of some festive
cosmic celebration.
So
when the leaves began to lose all their color and fell to the ground like
kamikaze planes I was quite dismayed. I remember asking my mother why this was
happening and my mother in her infinite wisdom telling me that the leaves needed
to sleep and rest for awhile so they could come back in the Spring, new and
pretty once again.
That
explanation worked for a bit until I went to school and understood that the
fallen leaves never returned. However, Christmas always followed this event so
I never had to dwell very long on the dying foliage. And diving into piles of
raked leaves gave some merit to this event.
I am now well into adulthood and over the
years, however, I have at times felt some degree of sadness as autumn comes to
a close. I’ve often asked myself just what it is that fills me with that sense
of melancholia. Is it the barrenness that creeps across nature like a grim
reaper? Or perhaps the oncoming chill and dropping temperatures? Or just the
connotation of Fall?...Fallen leaves, the falling back of the clock, the
diminishing sunlight. There is some irony to the fact that the shortest day of
the year heralds in the Winter season.
And
yet what happens when Autumn ends? Winter marches in, cold and forceful, like a
babbling brook rushing forward, sweeping along the debris left behind by the
previous summer and fall. Snow falls wiping clean the earth with a white
blanket of crystals, clearing the way for the return of the sun’s warmth -- The
cold killing off pestilence and disease, purifying the air to make ready for
the newly born growth of Spring. It seems as if even Winter is part of the
Grand Design.
The
cycle goes round and round as does the passage of time, both moving in one
direction with no glance backward. The best any of us can do is collect what is
worth saving and discard the rest as we are swept along in the grand plan of
the Universe. Every season has its purpose, as does every event in your life,
even your darkest hours. Winter comes for each and every one of us. It is
inevitable. The only thing mutable is how we deal with it.
Will
you rail at the unfairness of its cold and barren nature? Or will you embrace
it—knowing that it is a necessary part of your spiritual and emotional
evolution? Will you accept that for the tree to grow it must be pruned from
time to time, stripped down and laid bare to make way for new growth? It is
your choice to bend or to break, to blend or to rage, to rest, reflect and grow
or….die….
And
that is truly the cycle of life…For time waits for no one. And as I age I
realize that neither can I. Each and every one of us is here for an express and
unique purpose. The secret of a happy life is to discover what it is then
follow your bliss, no holds barred, patiently learning all the lessons that
come your way and accepting that God/Spirit does have a plan for us if we can
only have the faith to keep moving forward. And know that Spring ALWAYS follows
Winter.
