Changing Seasons

Before becoming a big city girl, I grew up in a very small rural area in the South. Some of the things I miss most are men opening doors, lazy Sundays at my grandparents, and the gradual changing of the seasons. For as long as I can remember, autumn has been my absolute favorite time of year, and if the day ever comes, I hope to get married under the falling leaves of orange and red.

Other things have seasons, too, and sometimes that's a difficult lesson to learn or even admit to yourself. The most difficult is when you desperately want something to last more than a season, but it's just not meant to be and it's time to move on to a new time of year, a new season. It's often hard to ascertain exactly what it is that has changed and why a new season is upon you. Being able to accept the course of a life, of a relationship, of a feeling...why must that transition be so harsh and seemingly vindictive? What of the deliberateness of the progression of nature doesn't translate into the complexities of life and love? And if it must be so severe, why must it always seem that we are alone in the transition? Does nature feel the same way?