The Beauty of Seasons

Seems that I just keep pondering on the theme of the seasons. The following is an excerpt from Singing Owl. She paints a picture of a place I would like to be. Go to The Owl's Song to read the full post.

Sunlight filtered through wind-tossed woods, casting dancing shadows across the highway. I almost expected the dappled light to scatter before my wheels like leaves. The trees, some flashing a spot of early red or gold, turned to farmland, red barns, and the occasional horses or cattle. The shadows of late afternoon stretched in elongated stripes, curving over the gentle contours of the fields. Except for the engine, it was quiet. I saw few vehicles and fewer people.

Stopping to stretch my legs, I stepped onto crunchy gravel at the side of the road. It was warm, even hot, but there was that awareness that fall is nearing--something in the breeze and the shadows and the sky. I gradually became aware of an almost undetectable sweetness in the air. Sniffing, I wondered what caused it--too mild to be called an aroma, exactly. Then I saw that on each of the four corners of the intersection was a different kind of crop.

To my rear on the left stood corn, tasseled and turning brown, loaded with ears that would become food for the cattle during winter. Behind me to the right the "spring green" of alfalfa grew in astonishing brilliance. In front to the left a field of soybeans, one of the loveliest crops imaginable, stretched to the horizon. In summer its leaves are a deep glossy green, but now they were turning to the characteristic mottled red, gold and yellow of fall. On the other corner stood a farmhouse. To the side of the wide lawn was a garden. Around the edges grew late-summer flowers--Gladiolas, Black-Eyed Susan's, Snapdragons, and many more I could not name. I was too far away to identify all of what remained in the garden, but I could see what I guessed were tomato plants along with the broad leaves of squash plants. I surmised that all these lovely growing things were what filled the air with that subtle freshness.

David at Pilgrim Scribblings shares a poem in his post about the seasons. One line that really strikes a cord with me is this one. "Summer is over and we can't call it back..."

Once we have passed through a season only the memories can be retrieved. The events of a season shape the season ahead. A hard freeze cuts down on the population of insects found in the spring. A springtime with ample rain and warm temperatures yeilds crops in abundance. A freeze in the springtime damages vegetation that is just beginning to bloom. A dry scorching summer is a sure obstacle for plant growth.

Spiritual seasons work in a similar fashion. Yet it is how we cope with the freeze that comes at the time of our budding. Or how we rebound from the drought that often follows the spiritual highs we experience. And yet another factor in our spiritual seasons has to do with the preparations we make to sustain ourselves in difficult times.

St.John chapter 15 tells us that He is the vine and we are the branches. He is the constant source of our life. We are never left alone in the seasons of our lives. Everything we need for growth is found in Him, but it our responsibility to seek Him, ask of Him, and receive from Him.