Good and bad often package together, can’t have one without the other. And so it is with seasons, as I write on this first day of vernal equinox in New York.
My wife complains that I do not make much of holidays so that “every day is the same.” Exactly why I like longer and shorter days, warm and cold, flowers and frost and brown stark tree limbs. Where I live no day is quite the same ever. And that does not even count the vagaries of weather, more active here than on a tropic isle.
Lately nature is unfortunately overshadowed by neighbors. Winter is mostly quiet, but spring is massive yard crew cleanup, summer extravagant construction, fall a cacophony of leaf removal. It’s often noisier than an airport in my backyard.
Fortunately I can escape to a park where the sounds are at least dulled by distance. And that is where I truly appreciate the magnificence of seasonal progression. Even in late winter, life changes week by week, and the pace quickens rapidly as the sun grows stronger.
For me, no day is the same, unless I hide inside and ignore all the miracles handed to me on a silver platter.
HuntingtonHarborThoughts 