Saturday, February 12, 2011
All the years I lived in San Francisco I missed having four distinct, dramatic seasons. Where I grew up, in the American midwest, winter and summer are extremely intense. Fall and spring pass quickly. I find a landscape with four seasons orienting, grounding. The eternal, year-round spring-like weather of San Francisco really threw me off balance. In San Francisco, you might be cold enough to build a roaring fire in August, or warm enough to go to the beach in January, depending on the fog or absence thereof. There was no such thing as a really hot or really cold day in San Francisco. Never. It did not make sense to my midwestern raised body.
Washington DC has near-perfect seasons. Spring and fall go on for months, winter is very mild compared to New England or the midwest. Summer? OK, summer bears down on us, but really there's only one terrible month: August. The rest of the year is beautiful.
There's a quickening underfoot in DC this morning. Robins are singing - loudly. Haven't heard that sound for many months. The trees are beginning to stir, too. The tips of their twigs are swelling, and there's an aura around the branches that wasn't there two weeks ago. It's still very cold, though yesterday afternoon I was able to sit comfortably on the porch without wearing a coat. I wore sunglasses yesterday. Sunglasses, yeah.
As a human and a shaman I'm very excited to be able to imagine spring: the trees popping, the crocus and daffodils rising, the springtime energy rushing straight upwards out of the ground, as if the earth herself were trying to grab the sunlight.
Because of the energetic shift that I sensed only yesterday, I've called a moratorium on the cake baking. There will be no zucchini cupcakes. It was getting a little bit pathological, my obsession with flour, baking powder and eggs. I don't even LIKE cake. Some friends are dropping by this afternoon to finish the buttermilk country cake, drink coffee. While they're here, I might be able to crack the windows in the kitchen, allow a little bit of almost spring air into the chateau. Wouldn't that be exciting? I think so, I do.
Shabbat Shalom. Happy almost spring, or if you live south of the equator, happy almost fall. And so the wheel of the year turns. Oh yeah.