Seasons of Wonder

The Bitterroot River on my daily walk near my home.
 
There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. 

 Albert Einstein

I used to dread winters. I hated being cold, feeling forced to limit my outside activity because of fear of falling on the ice, having to layer up and look like a walking Michelin man, and I was terrified of driving. I admit, I still find myself avoiding the thought of the "ice and inversion season" that takes over the Missoula Valley for two or three months every year. But regardless of the inconveniences that inevitably accompany the deep of winter, the more present I become, the more I appreciate it for its own unique beauty. I adapt by doing simple things like driving slower, cooking eating seasonal food, cherishing the comfort and warmth of my home, and appreciating the feel of invigorating and crisp winter air on my skin and in my lungs.

I recently thought to myself that if there is one thing that I would miss the most if I was no longer able to live here on this spectacular Earth, it would be the amazing blessing of being able to observe the way the world transforms with the changes of seasons. Today it was a crisp kind of cold all day. The trees have dropped over half of their leaves, quietly passing the unspoken mid-point between fall and winter. I felt a slight sense of sadness to be saying goodbye to the colors--I love fall, perhaps more than any other season (if I could pick a favorite, that is)--but only in the way one feels sadness when leaving a place that you know you will return to, and not so long from now.

The changes that occur in the world around me are so alive, so dynamic, and so fascinating. But many of these shifts are subtle, and in order to notice them, one must know a place well. Over time, I watch the the way one large rock just off of the shore that I pass on my daily walk on the Bitterroot bends and rolls the river over its round body differently as the water level fluctuates, from the swift depth after a rush of snow melt in the late spring to the slow shallowness after the drying of the summer. I know seasons by how the feeling of the world transforms--from the quiet settling of the autumn to the bright and exuberant popping of the early summer.  In my experience, when I commit my attention to the ways the natural world and its inhabitants (including humans) adapt to the changes in how the Sun shines upon our little section of the Earth, it becomes impossible to not feel an incredible sense of wonder for any particular part of this truly marvelous cycle.