I don’t approve of how Winter hangs around, staying past its welcome like retired in-laws with
Harold Borland’s inspirational quote claims that “no winter lasts forever and no spring skips its
turn.” I’m not so sure about that.
After loitering, Winter tries to short-change us on Spring by leaping from 40 and 50 degrees to 80 degrees overnight as if we wouldn’t notice that the 60s and 70s were missing. In history terms that is like hopping over two decades as if they were mere cracks in the sidewalk.
I was born in the ’60s and that was not a decade that came and left quietly. And some of history’s greatest music (classic rock, of course) and cars came out of the ’70s (not the AMC Pacer, of course.) See, you can’t just bypass 20 years and not expect Time-Life Books not to notice.
But Winter will try to pull a fast one on you and Summer will pickpocket Spring right out from
under your nose if you don’t stay alert.
Winter and Summer would seemingly be enemies but both are jealous of Spring. Winter hates
Spring for being bright and beautiful, always showing up in colorful attire; while Summer resents Spring for being so breezy and light on her feet.
Winter knows that when Spring arrives she will find him on his death bed.
Summer has a hot temper and is already weary of complaints by late June while July is doing warm-up stretches on the sidelines. August is still asleep when lovers of October begin fantasizing about being reunited.
Whether Winter or Summer want our affection or our sympathy matters little to me. Vivaldi
may treat all four seasons fairly but I’m biased toward Spring and loyal to Fall. Let school boys welcome Summer and despise Autumn but I’ll gladly send children back to their studies so the trees have privacy to change their clothes.
And let Winter do its worst, but let it surrender after one early April frost, a final spasm of its
cold body. Then release the dogwood to bloom and let the lilies trumpet the announcement of
Spring’s procession and quarterly kingdom.