I would be hard pressed to pick my favorite season. There are certain things I love about every season. I love that in spring, everything is coming to life. It’s all new and fresh. The mornings are still cool and yet the promise of summer is hard to ignore. For summer, I love the warmth and the freedom that is associated with it. Summer seems to be the most carefree time of the year. With fall, the cool mornings return and the excitement of all the fall holidays build. And yet, fall contains the knowledge of the death of the year. Winter is a blessed relief from the heat of summer. It carries the weight of the world – all the death and dying is contained in winter. Symbolized in it. And yet, it’s in winter that we celebrate the coming of our Lord. So, even in the death of the year, there is hope.

Seasons of life are very similar. There are times when everything is new, coming to life. There are times when life seems carefree and fun. There are times when friendships and opportunities “die” as they leave and doors are closed. And there are times when everythnig is bleak and life seems dead – but there is still hope. But with life, the seasons seem to intermingle more. The bleak, lonely times intermix with the fun, fulfilling times. It’s less like a cycle and more like a revolving door – you never know quite what it’s going to be until it comes.

I’ve recently felt like I’ve been stuck in a fall/winter season – full of hardship and loneliness but with the hope of new life/friendships/etc. for quite some time. And, since my move, I’ve realized that I’m in more of a spring season – things are new, but they contain all of the growing pains of moving to a new place in life. Beyond just moving to a new city, I’ve moved on to a truly post-collegiate life. It’s downright weird sometimes and devastatingly lonely at others. And yet, there is the hope, the promise of the future. You never know what tomorrow holds – you just know that it’s going to be an adventure.

~The Countess~


About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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