In eastern Pennsylvania, we’re currently in my favorite season.
For about two weeks each year, my lunchtime outdoor workouts are awash in the multitude of autumn colors. The surrounding hills are dominated by yellow but with just enough orange and red to stand out spectacularly. The air is crisp, but the sun is warm.
It’s coming, though.
Soon the hills will be a dreary brown, the air cold and heavy, and the sun will have lost its warming touch.
Winter is coming.
Mercifully, in a few months, the brown gives way to green, the air lightens, and the sun once again warms the skin. The dreary winter is over, and spring has begun.
One of the best things about eastern Pennsylvania is we can count on all four seasons. Although the timing and intensity may vary slightly from year to year, the arc of each is generally the same. Whichever is your favorite, you’ll get enough of it. Whichever is your least favorite, you’ll get enough of that, also.
These seasons are a metaphor for the seasons in our lives. Maybe they’re not as regular, or one outlasts another, but we’re constantly moving through one to another. However, unlike the earth’s seasons, our personal seasons are internal, intimate, and hidden. One cannot look at another and know their season.
The next time the person across the table makes you angry, confused, or hurt, start by trying to understand their season. Do the same when you look in the mirror.
