Changing Seasons

Day 98: North of Buck Lake, California

I flew into spring from a late winter in Washington. This spring slowly but surely migrated into the beginning of what we would call “summer”. That summer gave us hot days, yet still cool nights. Then, we left the desert and I dropped back into late spring.

That spring in turn rose into winter with the altitude that we gained. Winter was a rough one indeed, with snow storms, hail storms, and freezing temperatures. Freezing indeed enough that we had to sit on our shoes for 15 minutes just to warm them enough to make them pliable to put our feet into. Then, as soon as it emerged, it retreated: winter became spring.

Spring melted into a pallet of lime green and blooming flowers.

And eventually summer was in our midst. But what is summer? Summer means bugs dancing around like an air ballet. Summer means butterfly migration. Summer means hot days and warm nights. Summer means mosquitoes and gnats and dragonflies. Summer means the sound of cicadas. Summer means boasting flowers. Summer means lazy breezes. Summer means spent nests. Summer means my joy. Finally, I am walking along with summer.

After I walk for sometime, surely I will walk into autumn, with its own glory. And I hope not to walk into too much of winter once more. No matter though, I have been enjoying every one of these seasons.


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