Seasons, and the Passage of Time

This has nothing to do with the post.  It's just another pretty sunset.

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

For most of my life, the passage of time was marked by the passing of seasons.  Spring, Summer, Fall, and Autumn were distinctly different. I grew up in Kansas City where the range of temperatures over a year could, and did vary by as much as 120°.  There was a sense of anticipation as a new season approached, knowing things were going to be different.  Every three months, a new reality asserted itself.

I've lived in a lot of places in America, and have planted my foot in 32 different countries, and been cut by Siberian winds and baked under a Saharan sun.  And I treasured those experiences.

Having moved to Hawai'i...four years ago? (Where'd the time go???) I've had to get used to a new normal.  The climate here has been described as an eternal summer, and there's some truth to that.  The difference  between the average high temperatures from January to July is only six degrees.  The difference is the angle of the sun.  We're 1,600 miles closer to the equator so the sun's rays are far more direct.  Tourists regularly fail to recognize this, incurring agonizing cases of sunburn.  Also, the trade winds, blowing out of the northeast, can have a mediating effect on one's comfort.  But on those days in July and August when the winds die, the humidity soars, and the sun is at it's most ferocious, it's every bit as uncomfortable at 90° as a 105° day is in Missouri.  

Still, you find a way to adjust.  Our bodies respond over time by opening the skin pores to enhance cooling.  This does make the hot days marginally less oppressive.  But it also takes away any resistance to cold.  In the winter, temperatures here can sink down to the low 60's and if your body has shifted into tropical mode, that feels distinctly chilly.  It's hard for me because I remember that 65° was my climate wheelhouse.  Now, I'm reaching for a hoodie.

There are other seasonal differences.  It rains more in winter here, and that is the time of year when the giant storm systems raging in the Gulf of Alaska will generate dangerously high surf.  It's not unusual to see 50 foot waves pounding in along the north shores. It's an awesome thing to witness, as long as you do it from a safe distance.  I remember one evening in Waikiki hearing a young Dad and his son as they walked and talked along the sidewalk.  Suddenly the son stopped and listened.  He could hear the surf breaking on the beach, and he turned to his Dad and asked, "Don't they turn the ocean off after dark?"

Still, even living here, I miss the turn of the seasons.  Autumn was my favorite.  After enduring the heat and humidity of summer, when the third week of September came, the temperatures and humidity dropped.  The skies cleared of that milky summer haze.  Over time, as the leaves changed, the air was filled with that remarkable aroma as the leaves fell and covered the ground, and how the swish of my feet through the fallen leaves enhanced the sensation.  Over time, it became too cool for shorts and t-shirts.  The night's chill made a sweater feel good.  By the first week of November, the leaves were at peak, the landscape painted with those vivid reds and golds as only the artist of Autumn can do.

Winter was uniformly long, cold, and dark.  Snow lost its novelty after the first two storms, but the holidays meant the warmth of family, friends, and celebrations.  Still, there was magic in walking in a field, making the first footprints in the flawless white, glittering surface.  The big post-holiday letdown of January and February, a time I referred to as "the long, dark tunnel," were weeks to be endured.  

The coming of spring can only be appreciated after a long, cold winter.  One day, the snow is gone, the wind, once biting cold, has become soft, gentle, warm.  The trees bud out and after months of silence, the delightful sounds of birdsong once again filled the air.  Flowers, both wild and domesticated, bloom in brilliant colors.  When we walk, instead of being hunched over from the cold, our shoulders are back, our faces up and open to the sun.  We feel delightful, and share those good feelings with those we encounter.  Everyone is cheered by the onset of Spring.  Life returns to the world, and to us.

I feel sad for people here in Hawai'i because they will never know that joy, the way our spirit comes alive in the artistry of Autumn and the new life of Spring.  The start of baseball in the spring, and the thrill of football in the fall (especially if Patrick Mahomes is your quarterback) bring their own sense of excitement and anticipation.  It is part of the process that marks the passage of time, and becomes an internal rhythm by which we dance through the year. 

Now that the Pandemic is on its last legs, and travel is much safer and more pleasant, I look forward to making a trip back across the Big Canal to once again watch life return in Spring, and the forests glow in Autumn.  I turn 67 this month, and I am reminded that there are fewer days ahead than behind.  Thus, the opportunities to do so are becoming fewer.  I guess I'm going through seasons myself, now entering into the autumn of my life.  This is natural and expected, but I am reminded to live vigorously in the time I have left.  Yes, I've missed the seasons.  I've missed the changes in the world around me, and the blessing they brought to my soul.  

However, I don't miss shoveling snow.