It is something I am never ready for – the changing of seasons. And it is not one specific season, it’s the arrival of all of them.
By the end of August, as the sun begins to set noticeably earlier and earlier, I am already fearing the arrival of autumn.
The night air becomes crisper, the grass becomes crunchier, the wind blows harder. All of this is Mother Nature’s subtle way of telling us to prepare for change.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy the fall season, on the contrary, I love fall. In fact, it’s one of my top four favourite seasons.
But at the end of every season remains a long list of things I never got around to.
The changing of leaves and the squawking of geese returning south reminds me of the lakes I didn’t swim in, the trails I didn’t meander and the campfires I didn’t sit around yet.
When basking in autumn’s beautiful colours, the same thing will happen again, following the first frost that lingers on my windshield and the dropping of the last leaf.
Again, it will ignite the realization that I didn’t go on enough evening strolls, drink enough pumpkin spiced flavoured beverages or spend enough time wearing my favourite fall jacket.
At the end of winter, there remains wishes of having skated outdoors more, and the list always goes on.
The shortness of seasons also has beauty, though. Because they are fleeting, we value them all the more.
While not all regions experience the four seasons the way we do in land-locked Alberta, I don’t think I would have it any other way.
I think we learn a lot from the change that is forced on us by the natural world. We learn that nothing stays the same and that things must change for them to be new.
What would a field be without spring’s melt and rain, summer’s sun and the respite of fall’s cool air?
Hunkering down in winter isn’t the worst thing in the world either.
Being aware that change is coming isn’t so bad. It reminds us that time ticks on, and if we want to make hay, we have to do it when the sun is shining.