To me, the names of the seasons should always begin with a capital letter—Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn.
It’s a matter of respect…
…respect for the essence—the special presence—of every season.
Technically speaking, Winter begins on December 21. But many of us are already feeling the presence of Winter…
Where I live, the gray sky hung heavy last week; the sleet had teeth. So, for a couple of days, I burrowed down into the safety of my cubby hole…
I was being practical, of course. But on a deeper level, I was beginning to feel the weight of Winter…the darkness.
At such times, Winter can seem so merciless. Winter doesn’t give a damn about our hardship. Winter doesn’t seem to care if we live or die.
But to curse it would be to reject life. So instead, I try to embrace Winter—after all, I can’t really hide from it.
Saturday morning, I crawled from my cubby hole, stepped outside into a slashing icy-wet wind, and plowed ahead. I met Winter’s challenge…
…but with a sense of humility. The force of Winter always reigns supreme.
I don’t see Winter as some type of pagan god. Nonetheless, it’s still alive for me—not just as a presence outside me, but as presence inside me as well—not just creeping into my bones, but also creeping into the marrow of my soul.
Perhaps, Winter evokes what is always within me, but often hidden—something easily forgotten in the glare of Summer.
So maybe my Winter is a god—just not an anthropomorphic one.
It’s a part of me, yet apart from me. A paradox.
To my mind, such a presence, such an essence, such a wonderful paradox truly deserves a capital letter—a big “W”—at the start of its name.
© 2013, Michael R. Patton
just another literary tome