The bushes in my front yard are turning red already. When I noticed yesterday, I also realized that this creates mixed feelings for me. Being pregnant, I'm much more ready for the cooler weather than usual . . . but I don't miss the dark of winter. We've been spending more evenings walking to the park after dinner to watch Amelia run through the playground in the golden light of sunset. It's crazy to think it will be dark before dinner soon. I'll miss these after-dinner walks, mostly because I don't have anything great with which to replace them. A long winter huddled in front of the t.v. just isn't very inspiring.
But then I wonder if the seasons aren't a gift to our bodies, to encourage us to stop our work earlier, to not stay out and up so late if only for a few months. I wonder if it's good after all the adventuring out into the world to center in again to our homes and our families. I know I tend to get comfortable that way, too, and when the season shifts again in spring it's daunting then, as well.
I've been having flashbacks from last winter and the things that I loved, like practicing yoga in the chapel at the cathedral, spending blocks of time knitting at String, going to the library to write in the afternoons, the return of the peppermint mocha. I loved Advent and the context it created for our Christmas celebration. Bundling up and walking through Downtown Denver when it's blanketed in snow makes me feel like my life is a movie. I suppose these are all good things. Last year's winter was such a season of sorrow; here's hoping (especially with the arrival of the baby) that this year's will be a time for joy.