Growing up in Utah brought the changes of the seasons and I looked forward to seeing the world, at least my little piece of the world, take on a new face.
The first fluttering snowflakes of winter.
The courageous little crocus flowers peeking up through the late March snowfall meant spring was on it's way.
Feeling the warm sprinkle of sun on my face meant a beautiful summer and
then the evenings would turn crisp and the leaves would color my backyard with shades of red, orange and yellow.
I love the seasons. I miss them.
Living here in Arizona has meant giving up some of that.
Seasons exist it's just that it isn't happening right outside my front door.
We have to drive a couple hours north to find the snow or the really significant fall colors.
And identifying spring and summer as separate seasons really doesn't happen. They melt together.
On my little street there a very few trees that actually change colors. I think I can count two.
But one of them IS right out my front door.
I like to think it was meant to be.
And it makes me smile. Especially when the sky is so beautifully blue behind it.
Every January for the past 11 1/2 years, this yellow beauty reminds me of a couple things...
1. Time to let go of yesterday's sorrows but hold close the joys that blessed my days.
2. Heavenly Father has a truly beautiful painter's palette.
1 comment:
You have a beautiful writing style, Andrea. I lurk and blog-stalk you all the time:). You've got a wonderful family.
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