The changing of the seasons

I never truly understood seasons. Where I’m from you have hot, slightly less hot, and raining. The scenery doesn’t change. The trees keep their leaves. The animals don’t get fat. The weather is perfect all year round. Well, close to perfect. The decision to leave such a climate is one that you will be questioned about frequently, and rightly so. While I do enjoy days of perfect weather, there is something magical about the changing of the seasons.

It begins with a hint of warmth on the breeze, and a smell. The first signs of spring are emerging. The breeze carries a warmth that tells you what is coming. It’s almost as if you blink and suddenly yellow flowers are blooming and the trees are covered in pink. Six months it has been cold. Six months you have been inside sipping warmed drinks and watching the snow fall. This winter was longer than most. Every week you told yourself, this will be the week that spring comes. And each week the cold came back with a vengeance, dropping below freezing and threatening to kill of the flowers that had dared to be ambitious in their blooming. This leads to trust issues. Even when it’s warm enough to be outside in shorts, you’re still waiting for that hint that winter is again rearing its frozen head.

Spring time in a place that gets cold is like no other place. It’s as if every person around you has suddenly rediscovered the person they want to be. The first few weeks all anyone can chat about is getting outside. We stare out our windows at work counting down the minutes until we can feel that warm air on our skin.

Then before you know it, summer hits. The beer is flowing, the grill is going almost 24/7. Floating down the river you switch between being in the water and being out, as the weather has now hit 100+ and can roast that tender, uncovered skin. You appreciate the hell out of these months, but there is always a part of you that is ready for that first hint of a cooler breeze, a relief from the stifling heat that clings to you wherever you go. And then it comes. Around Halloween each year, the cold follows the costumes. Like some form of warning of what is about to come. These autumn months are some of the most enjoyable, packed with holidays that bring you memories of past years, being with family and friends and football.

Then winter comes. The leaves have fallen, the trees are bare. At this point, you are cheering for the cold. Hoping that you will get that mystical white Christmas. You bring your favorite coats out again; your old jeans still fit and can finally be worn outside. New Year’s Eve is a blur of plans, drinking and noise.

Then, January. January hits you like a brick in the face. It’s cold. There aren’t any holidays left. You go back to work with the impending knowledge that for the next few months it is just day in, day out without reprieve from the cold, monotonous overcast days. The super bowl emerges as the one brief ember of light that gets extinguished faster than it began.

But then, before you know it, the hint of warmth is on the breeze again.

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