Fall and spring are, without contest, my two favorite seasons. One lulls you into quiet contemplation and the other into a vibrant rebirth. Both offer a cornucopia of colors and smells. Today, as I wandered about my yard, I kicked about through the thick bed of fallen leaves. The ground was ablaze with golds and yellows and browns and reds. And there, standing alone in that sea of color was a tiny viola, the echo of spring.
The seasons in nature often mirror the seasons in our lives. There are ebbs and flows, and often a whisper of the past peeks up to remind us of where we’ve been. As I walked about the yard, I couldn’t help but think about the number of years spent tending those garden beds and the memories that were planted and rooted there; the plants each daughter chose to be her special plant; the flower selections for this child or that; the joy in seeing the first sprouts of a vegetable plant emerge. And, the laughter, so much laughter was planted, took root, and has grown in our yard.
Seasons change, but the echoes of those sweet memories linger.