Image by Vinson Tan ( 楊 祖 武 ) from Pixabay
"There is always in February some one day, at least, when one smells
the yet distant, but surely coming, Summer."
GERTRUDE JEKYLL
I first spotted this lovely quote on my dear friend Sandra's Facebook page. Attributed to Gertrude Jekyll, British horticulturist and gardener of the Victorian/Edwardian era, these lines superbly say what I myself have been feeling these past few days. For my heart leaps in concert with Gertrude (and Sandra) as I, too, begin to catch a whiff of something different in the air, the hint of the yet distant but coming season.
Of course, I know winter is never over this early, not around these parts; there is sure to be more feisty cold and snowy days before it's all said and done. But for the moment, our days are mild with glorious sunshine and the great piles of snow have been gently melting. Something new is a-stir within and without.
Of course, I know winter is never over this early, not around these parts; there is sure to be more feisty cold and snowy days before it's all said and done. But for the moment, our days are mild with glorious sunshine and the great piles of snow have been gently melting. Something new is a-stir within and without.
A couple of weeks ago I was still very much in hibernation mode, and so the posts I had been working on prior to my computer hard drive crash still mirrored the desire to hunker down and be cozy indoors with quiet pursuits, my books, tea, and my own thoughts. When I came back to these drafts days later, I realized something had shifted and they now felt out of sync. The huge desire to hibernate, in fact, had been evaporating along with the snow outside, and I rather felt an emerging desire to expand. To reach toward the light dawning earlier and staying later each day. To get out into the air that somehow smells and even feels different. So we write something new.
I absolutely love the watercolour painting at the top of today's post, and I feel so very lucky-blessed to have found it during a recent image search on pixabay. The artist has done such a lovely job. That bouquet is so alive with colour and joy. It matches my emerging mood.
People will often ask each other what is their favourite season. Ever since I was a young woman intent on discovering my personal interests and preferences, I unequivocally knew that autumn in all her glorious splendour was my season. It fit who I was at the time -- loving the riot of vibrant colours, early twilights, cozy sweaters, and crisp air. I never thought I'd ever change my mind, but recently, even though autumn still is a well loved time of year, I have come to truly appreciate winter, spring, and summer in a similar fashion, and whichever one I happen to be living in the moment becomes my favourite at the time.
I have asked myself why that might be and muse that it might have something to do with being a woman of a certain age. Squarely facing my diminishing future, I recognize I have undoubtedly seen more seasons come and go than I have yet to enjoy ahead of me (unless I live to 120, well then, I'm just over half way there). In that light, I don't want to yearn my life away by longing for spring in January, but prefer to nestle into each one, truly enjoying whatever it is that makes each of the four seasons in turn one of earth's best beloved wonders.
"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor;
summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all."
STANLEY HOROWITZ
I absolutely love the watercolour painting at the top of today's post, and I feel so very lucky-blessed to have found it during a recent image search on pixabay. The artist has done such a lovely job. That bouquet is so alive with colour and joy. It matches my emerging mood.
People will often ask each other what is their favourite season. Ever since I was a young woman intent on discovering my personal interests and preferences, I unequivocally knew that autumn in all her glorious splendour was my season. It fit who I was at the time -- loving the riot of vibrant colours, early twilights, cozy sweaters, and crisp air. I never thought I'd ever change my mind, but recently, even though autumn still is a well loved time of year, I have come to truly appreciate winter, spring, and summer in a similar fashion, and whichever one I happen to be living in the moment becomes my favourite at the time.
I have asked myself why that might be and muse that it might have something to do with being a woman of a certain age. Squarely facing my diminishing future, I recognize I have undoubtedly seen more seasons come and go than I have yet to enjoy ahead of me (unless I live to 120, well then, I'm just over half way there). In that light, I don't want to yearn my life away by longing for spring in January, but prefer to nestle into each one, truly enjoying whatever it is that makes each of the four seasons in turn one of earth's best beloved wonders.
"...I trudge our familiar routes through the wood, and there
is a muted cloud of joy -- muted because I haven't finished
scaling winter. Spring proper is still not yet here."
EMMA MITCHELL, The Wild Remedy
I'm not in a huge hurry for winter to be over, but neither am I oblivious to the slight stirrings, those hints of lovely things to come. It's in the air and I'm feeling it in my soul. Until next time, I'm off to watch for glimpses of heaven in unexpected places. I hope you'll find them too. Happy day!
Hugs,
Brenda
x💓x
