The song of the crickets already dominates the nights. There is a tinge of yellow in the green of some trees. The tomatoes are ripe and prolific and the garden is looking somewhat less vibrant. It is hard to believe that this is almost the end of August. Yet it is. Soon another summer will have passed. It seems we just rejoiced in the awakening of springtime, just felt the lush days of summer, and soon it will be autumn. Life passes like that. Looking back it has gone much too quickly. Yet, every season brings its own fullness and its own gifts. If we live each one fully; if we take time to savor and to absorb the moments, winter will not catch us unaware. It will be enriched by all that was and be a preparation for yet another spring.
The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.
Enjoy these last days of summer. Take time to notice the ripeness of earth and notice the subtle signs of the approach of autumn. Rejoice in the balance and beauty of our earth.
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.
Everything has seasons, and we have to be able to recognize when something’s time has passed and be able to move into the next season. Everything that is alive requires pruning as well, which is a great metaphor for endings.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with Spring.
For millions of years, this world has been a great gift to nearly everything living on it, a planet whose atmosphere, temperature, air, water, seasons, and weather were precisely calibrated to allow us – the big us, including forests and oceans, species large and small – to flourish.
The coming and going of the seasons give us more than the springtimes, summers, autumns, and winters of our lives. It reflects the coming and going of the circumstances of our lives like the glassy surface of a pond that shows our faces radiant with joy or contorted with pain.
Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.
The seasons are what a symphony ought to be:
four perfect movements in harmony with each other.