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Sycamores are slow to embrace Spring.
Or so it would appear.
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Once Spring arrives, it happens in such a rush that if you aren’t paying constant attention you may well miss the best bits.
Glorious azaleas – not mine!
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The freshness of new leaves.
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Is it psychological conditioning that makes us feel Spring is a joyful time?
It marks the return of life, so we celebrate it.
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Should we not celebrate every part of the cycle?
As Spring passes into Summer there will be other images to enjoy, so too with Fall and Winter.
And as we pass into the so-called dying season, the reverse hemisphere is emerging from it.
Life is mostly on-going, if dormant at times, to be celebrated every day.
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Because they so detested cold weather, my parents went to live in the tropics and in that climate I was cured of the asthma that plagued me in England.
Once I’d acclimatised to the heat, I enjoyed living in what seemed like permanent Summer.
In fact there were seasons:
Wet and Dry.
Certain trees flowered seasonally. I’ll never forget the magnificent red flamboyants.
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The tropics suited me well. I enjoyed living in shorts and sandals, or often bare feet.
Returning to England was a shock, although there was more to it than cold weather and heavy clothing.
After two years I came to live on Long Island where in those days, winters were harsh.
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Heating systems worked better than I’d been used to in the English boarding school, so despite the significant cold, winter was easier to tolerate.
Still, snow made for stressful commuting, so I did not immediately become enamored of winter.
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It was in Maine that I learned to appreciate Winter.
There, it was colder than I had ever experienced and snow fell heavily, blowing into deep drifts.
The silence following a blizzard was magical.
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As cold as it can get in Maine, their summers can be very hot, humid and buggy, but it’s a lovely state with extensive forests and lakes.
Fall in Maine is something to behold.
When they retired, my aunt and uncle had a home built out in the sticks, on a dirt road which even now I think remains unpaved.
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It would have been nice to keep that property, but I could not afford to and coping with winter gets difficult as you grow older as my relatives learned.
When my uncle was hospitalised, Kay went to an assisted living in the nearby town. It was quite nice but she never managed to adjust.
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Maybe if I’d been able to leave my job and move into the house with Kay she would have lived longer. I loved her so much, but there was no work available for me in Maine and I had my parents still to consider. I needed to be able to get back and forth to England frequently.
It doesn’t do to dwell on “what if’s”.
My final memory of Kay is of her beautiful blue eyes and their profound sadness as we said that last goodbye. She had lost the ability to speak, so I never talked to her again and I’ve never known if she forgave me for failing her so completely.
If you allow them to, thoughts can torment you!
Thank you, Carolyn, for your moving memories! You are right, there is no point in thinking that we could make different choices, as the past is past and we cannot go back. I think it is inevitable to wish we could have opened a different door, and our life would be better.
Joanna
Memories can cut as sharp as a knife, but they can also bring quiet joy.
Best wishes, Pete.
I’m sure that in Kay’s mind there was nothing whatsoever to forgive you for!
I don’t think you failed her .
You’re right, it doesn’t pay to lament on the “what ifs” as it causes too much angst. We make a specific decision depending on what point of life we’re at and at the time, we believe it’s the right decision.
Beautiful azaleas!