When I say I hate time, Paul says
how else could we find depth
of character, or grow souls.
– Mark Doty
Pink sky- wet jeans- I’m writing by the 7pm light of the evening. 68 and humid, borderline rain. They say it doesn’t rain twice in a season in Austin, but already three times this week.
Seasons are… time, I think. They are partitions for the year, a color palette for the life. When I travel somewhere and the season changes, the sensation is a travel through time, to a younger me perfectly preserved in the sounds and smells and the feel of the air and sun. With seasons, we look at the leaves in the trees, the sky and the grass, we walk down to the river to find it frozen and know that time has passed.
Without them: years in a day, and to age, to change, is somehow hideous, unwelcome, and unnatural. Seasons let us grow older with grace.