“Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.” Jackie posted this quote by poet Stanley Horowitz last week on her Facebook page. It was the first time I had read the quote which, I have found through research, gains momentum this time of year.
And, understandably so. I am fortunate enough to live in a portion of the country where there are, for the most part, four seasons. Granted, in Georgia on the upper Piedmont, winter can be mild, spring short and summer long. But some years, fall-like weather can stretch as late as early December. And that is a blessing, because I love the fall. It is, without a doubt, my favorite time of year. October is my favorite month.
For most any and all outdoor activities, October is the perfect month weather-wise in this corner of the planet. The exception may be swimming and water sports, although I am sure there are a few hardy souls much younger than myself who might beg to differ. The heat and humidity are down. There is football on Saturdays and fishing, golf or tennis on Sundays (or any other day of the week for that matter). Of course deer hunting season hits full stride in October. Fall baseball, softball and soccer leagues are in full swing and The World Series. The Braves did not make it again this year, but that’s another kettle of fish for another day.
There are afternoon and evening boat rides around the lake. There are the day trips on the weekends into the mountains for Mother Nature’s exhibit of the annual explosion of colors, the changing leaves on the trees of North Georgia. Fall festivals are going on every weekend at churches, civic centers and in cities, towns and communities.
Fall is the time of year for planting and pruning, raking and burning. One of the most wonderful smells of all seasons is the smell of leaves burning in the fall.
There are also the simple pleasures as well, such as sitting on the back deck or the front porch, watching and listening to the woodland wildlife. In the mornings and evenings, the cardinals visit the feeders. The goldfinches, who have lost their bright yellow summer coat, are at the thistle socks. The woodpeckers love the suet feeders. The robins and mourning doves patrol the ground beneath the feeders and under the trees. The squirrels chatter and jump from tree to tree and, of course, climb the poles and shimmy down the hangers to the bird feeders. Occasionally, deer can be spotted in the woods or even in the back yard at the bird feeders as well.
In my younger years, I hated the winter. I hated it with a passion. I could not wait until spring and the promise of the coming summer arrived. I loved and lived for the heat of the summer. Pool time, boat drinks, lake life and trips to the beach. I loved the heat, the hotter the better. Of course, the heat of the summer is a lot easier to tolerate when you have a pool in your back yard that you can jump into at any time. Over time, however, I came to tolerate and even embrace the winter. I learned to find beauty in the barren woods and the occasional snowfall. I came to enjoy working outside chopping wood. I loved sitting with the dogs by the fire in the fireplace, the college football bowl season. From childhood I always loved the joy, festivities and traditions of the Christmas Season. And I came to appreciate and even see beauty in the dead of winter between January and late March.
As one ages, one comes to realize that each season is a gift of its own to be treasured and appreciated. The above quote made me think that our lives are like the seasons, and the description of the four are descriptions of the times of life. Childhood is the spring, a flowing and carefree watercolor. Many colors blend into one another, loosely tying together to form one work of art. The summer, the time of youth and early adulthood, is an oil painting. Depending on who we are, the oil painting can be a finely detailed realistic painting or portrait, a loose impressionistic piece capturing the color and the light, or an abstract whose deeper meanings are known only to ourselves and are open to interpretation.
And early and late middle age, the fall, is the mosaic of them all. It is the time of our lives when we look back and reflect. We can experience the joy of all of the seasons and times of our lives. We also can lament the fact that, had we known in our youth the things that we know now, how differently we may have done certain things.
And, the winter of our lives is indeed the etching. A winter scene of snow, barren trees, mountains, hills, valleys and evergreens, a beautiful etching of black ink on white paper.
The leaves have not really yet begun to fall in my yard. But, when they do fall, I will rake and burn as always. But, maybe this year I’ll rake them into a big pile. Then, I’ll get a running start and jump right on top. Then, I’ll have Jackie help me up. I’ll hobble inside and take my Aleve. I’ll get on the heating pad. I’ll turn on college football or golf and have a beverage for medicinal purposes, a mosaic heading toward an etching.
“Best of all he loved the fall. The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods. Leaves floating on the trout streams. And above the hills, the high blue windless skies. Now he will be a part of them forever.” – Ernest Hemingway