No doubt, you have heard the news. The Groundhog did not see his shadow. Spring is on its way. It seems like it was just a week or two ago that I was writing about how the animals in my yard were scurrying about getting ready for winter. [Winter Comes Too Soon Here .] And already, there are signs of spring popping up all around my yard. The daffodils, the crocuses, and the iris have sent shoots above the ground, and the forsythia has begun to bud.
There are no flowers yet, but as sure as my name is Jacki Kellum, I know that flowers are close behind.
Only a few days ago, our community was covered in snow, but the temperatures have begun to rise and the thaw is almost complete. As usual, the snow is watering the plants that are awakening beneath the ground. While we know that it is February and that winter is not over, Nature knows that it is February and Spring is almost here, and such is the ever-renewing cycle of life.
Spring comes and new life begins. During summer, nature grows and flourishes. During fall, everything begins to slow down, and during winter, life rests, but within the wintry resting place, new life stirs. Winter is not death. It is the springboard from whence new life begins.
For many years, I have associated the 4 seasons with the states of living and the subsequent death. I correlated spring with the birth of babies, and I associated summer with the abundant energy of childhood. Autumn was the time past middle age. I am almost 66-years-old now, and I am definitely experiencing the autumn of my life. Always before, I had assumed that winter was death, but as I look at the ending of winter here, I also see the beginning of another spring.
Could it be that even in old age, we are preparing to die and that we are simultaneously preparing to live again? It is simply an interesting thought.
©Jacki Kellum February 2, 2016 – Happy Groundhog’s Day
And the seasons, they go round and round,
And the painted ponies go up and down…….
The Circle Game
By Joni Mitchell
Yesterday, a child came out to wonder,
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar,
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder,
And tearful at the falling of a star
And the seasons, they go round and round.
We’re captive on a carousel of time.
We can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came,
And go round and round and round in a circle game.