:::by lindsey:::

There are certain things that I am not interested in the actuality of. The seasons are one of these things. Rather than knowing that it is winter because the Northern Hemisphere is tilted a certain way, I would prefer to know that it is winter when I must begin wearing socks, when the trees outside are bare and there is frost on my car in the morning. It is not that I want to be uneducated, quite the opposite. Some things should be felt, I believe. The seasons are one of them. I know it is fall when the drive home is so breathtaking that I stop listening to whatever song I have playing and look at the trees. I know that the season is also called autumn, but feels as if it should always be referred to as fall, because things are falling, literally and figuratively. Everything, it seems, is beginning to die, to fall away. Spring is appropriate too, I believe, the lurch forward we take, the growth that appears on the trees so suddenly that you are thrust into a new world. Summer is here when I am barefoot, when I wake up because it is bright, when I am floating on an air mattress in the lake, trying to define where the water ends and the land begins. This is how I want to know the season. The earth will tilt, it will spin, but whatever season it is I chose to understand to how I feel it on my skin.

What is interesting to me, however, is what a bad rap winter gets. I looked it up when preparing to write this, out of curiosity. The definition given is not just the period of time in which it takes place, but also its relation to the feeling of death, of barrenness. There is mention of nuclear winter, a time when the ash would be so thick that the darkness and cold would kill off all life. It is �the winter of discontent� and, in a novel I cannot remember, �the winter in her womb�. I see the connection, the way the earth gets hard and cold and trees look dead and things are quiet, but I never have felt it with a negative connotation. Winter is when it doesn�t matter what time you put your pajamas on, when you can have fires, drink hot tea, read all the books that have piled up. It is Christmas trees and cuddling and wearing that coat you bought that you have been dying to show off. Winter is what makes spring seem such a miracle, when you don�t calculate the rotation of the earth and just feel it all change.

<< 2002-12-10 @ 5:21 p.m. >>

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