It is already a long cold winter, with more snow than we usually get in a whole year. The people walking on the sidewalk are bundled up like snowmen, as if trying to hide their identities from the cold hard hand of Winter.
As I gaze out the window, my mind goes back to the beautiful November that we enjoyed. The sun was low in the sky, but warm and golden, with blazing sunsets that put summer to shame. Even after the trees had given up their leaves, and they lay in a crunchy shroud around their feet, the park was beautiful.
I was at Rock Point Provincial Park, long closed for the season. In the deep quiet of an empty forest, there was beauty everywhere I looked. I didn't see dead leaves, bare branches, and brown grass. I saw hidden seeds, tiny sproutlings, oozes of sap, all indicating a season of sleep in preparation for the bursting forth of a fresh, green spring.
So I look out my window at the deep snow and frozen branches, the icicles and the snowplows. I don't feel sad, I don't feel discontent. I am enjoying the contrast, the turn of the seasons, and I am warmed by my memories.