Though I confess winter’s cold and snow makes traveling difficult, winter is my season. It is the season for my eyes. Nature is naked. Perfect imperfection dances in twisted branches, dry plant stalks, and dried grass. Spring’s glory hides so much. Spring, like air brushing, hides the perfect imperfection. Nature is the season for my eyes. Against the beauty of bareness I can see the birds, deer, coyotes, the sun’s touch upon pine cones and, of course, sweet feathers. My eyes can carry my heart down paths and still see the blue sky peeking through. Come spring, the abundance of life and growth will hid this stream’s path.

I do love spring. The buds so excited to play in the sun. The opening of buds tightly held in a petal fist. The explosion of color like an artist throwing color upon a blank wall. It is a cacophony of brilliance, color, life, and expectancy fulfilled. Spring offers the gift of “I wonder.” I wonder what is there but I cannot see. Is my winter hawk there in his usual spot hidden by green? Are there soft brown eyes gazing at me through the lush green grass and shrubs? But I will miss winter’s sight. I will miss winter’s gifts. I will miss the abundance of life, the colors of silence, and the music of the wind met with no resistance.

As in nature, so is my life. Winter’s days of the heart offer clear sight. Spring’s days gift life. Neither is a handmaiden or chalice bearer to the other. Each stands as a chalice itself filled with its own nectar. Each requires different sight. I do not beg winter to stay. I do not yearn for spring to arrive. I sit with the gifts and abundance now offered… seeing spring in winter and winter in spring. The eyes of the Sweet Hands of Life and Love never blink.