When you’re young you prefer the vulgar
months, the fullness of the seasons. As you
grow older you learn to like the in-between
times, the months that can’t make up their
minds. Perhaps it’s a way of admitting that
things can’t bear the same certainty again.
I have an affection for those transitional
seasons, the way they take the edge off
the intense cold of winter, or
the heat of summer.
“How to Make an American Quilt~
But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its
treacherous ass as it always does after the
midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an
old friend that you have missed. It settles in the
way an old friend will settle into your favorite
chair and take out his pipe and light it and then
fill the afternoon with stories of places he had
been and things he has done since he last saw you.
She enjoys rain for its wetness, winter for its cold,
summer for its heat. She loves rainbows as much
for fading as for their brilliance. It is easy for her,
she opens her heart and accepts everything.
“Bard: The Odyssey of the Irish”
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields,
that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers
them up snug, you know, with a white quilt;
and perhaps it says “Go to sleep, darlings,
till the summer comes again.”
“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
& Through the Looking-Glass”
The heart’s seasons seldom coincide with the
calendar. Who among us has not been made
desolate beyond all words upon some golden
day when the creatures of the air and meadow
were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living?
Who among us has not come home, singing,
when the streets were impassable with snow,
or met a friend with a happy, smiling face,
in the midst of a pouring rain?
“Old Rose and Silver”
The seasons are the emotions of Time
Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and
the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon
the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating
to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions
extant of autumn – the season of peculiar and inexhaustible
influence on the mind of taste and tenderness – that season
which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read
some attempt of description, or some lines of feeling.
I usually go to my photo library for pictures for the weekly photo challenge, but this week I decided to take all new shots. It was fun to be on the lookout for photo ops to fit the challenge. However, I had to include the photo of the rainbow, although it was taken some weeks ago, just because it fit the quote.