Season's End

One of the perks of keeping a garden is stumbling upon little joyful moments when time stands still and life flows softly through, peaceful and unhurried.

Time slows down so we have enough of it to notice how bright the sunlight looks, reflected in the gold and orange leaves of the maple trees, how the long clouds cross each other in the periwinkle sky, how contours lose their sharpness and how a bronze hue underlies the colors; subtle changes, slow changes, not tethered to our speed at all.

Plants follow their schedule, mostly unnoticed by us humans, too busy with our daily hassles to marvel at something that springs from the ground and feeds on sunshine.

Sometimes towards the beginning of the winter a thin layer of soft wood right under the tree bark turns to ice, creating a makeshift greenhouse to protect the sap inside from freezing, to keep the pith alive and prevent damage to the trunk.

Every year this transformation occurs under our very eyes and goes unnoticed.

Every winter we live among trees of glass, pushing their defiant roots deeper into the frozen earth, waiting like real life Sleeping Beauties to be awakened by the first kiss of spring.

After all, the end of the season is just a station in an endless cycle, nothing more. The time when nature gets to rest.