Do you change with the seasons?
October 5, 2012
One of the things that is hard to realize about the Internet is that many of the thousands of people who visit us at Caleb and Linda Pirtle each month are spread out around the globe.
We all tend to be provincial, believing that our little slice of the world is like everyone else’s.
As I write this on the last day of September 2012, the season is changing from summer to fall. A cool north breeze has brought rain and temperatures in the 60s. The leaves have yet to change but will do so in the next couple of weeks, painting East Texas orange, red and brown.
October is probably the most wondrous month of the year for us. It brings shirt sleeve weather during the day, jackets at night for outdoor activities like football games.
As I grow older, I find myself more affected by the change in seasons. Fall with its coolness invigorates me, while it causes me to become more reflective. As winter approaches and the trees shed their leaves, the landscape browns, I miss the foliage and yearn for spring.
January is a bitch, February her sister.
But for now, we have two months of mild weather to enjoy, holidays on tap, goblins preparing to terrorize us.
It seems to me that people come to life in September, hit their strides in October, and begin to store up acorns in November.
It is strange to me that the months of October and March have so little in common although they share similar temperatures. March is blooming and anticipation; October, fading and reminiscences. March is youth and dreams; October, autumn years and memories.
I love to go to the beach in the Florida Panhandle in October. On the Gulf of Mexico, the water remains warm, while the beaches trade sun-worshipers for baby boomers who take long walks and search the horizon for things that used to be. The relentless breaking of waves reminds me of the cycle of life, a cycle at once reassuring yet impersonal, larger than any person, philosophy, or creed. If I stand barefoot in the surf, I feel at one with something greater than myself, something powerful, mysterious, strange yet comforting. I don’t know that I will make that pilgrimage this year, but I will think about times when I have.
So what is it like where you are now? Have the seasons changed? Has your soul changed with them?
(Stephen Woodfin is the author of five legal thrillers including The Warrior With Alzheimers: The Battle for Justice, which is set in the Florida Panhandle.)