Finding Wonder Again in the Changing Weather

“These are the seasons of emotion

And like the winds they rise and fall

This is the wonder of devotion

I seek the torch we all must hold

This is the mystery of the coldest quotient

Upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall”

— Led Zeppelin, “The Rain Song”

Searching for my first apartment in Los Angeles thirty‑eight years ago, I was surprised to see a heater on the wall. Just a few weeks earlier, I had departed New York with all my belongings in the car and the temperature on the bank thermometer approaching zero degrees. With the wind chill, it felt like minus ten degrees Fahrenheit. With an average daytime temperature of sixty-eight degrees in February, why would I need a heater in Los Angeles?

By the time the next winter rolled around, I was regularly turning on the heater, especially to chase away the morning chill. It had not taken long for me to acclimate to the climate of my new home and reset what I considered to be cold.

As time continued to pass, Southern California's climate became my norm. At first, I missed the constant cycle of four distinct seasons, but the opportunity to decorate for Christmas while wearing shorts was a worthwhile tradeoff. I certainly did not miss having to shovel snow or drive through it to get to work.

Our family's move last year to Washington State meant that time would no longer be marked by the fire season and periods when rain is a remote possibility. The four seasons had returned to my life.

As temperatures dropped and trees lost their leaves, I braced for the cold that I had left behind thirty‑eight years ago. Though Washington's climate is more temperate than New York's, snow was still a possibility, and the white stuff and I had not departed on good terms back in 1988.

But when the snow did fall, it felt more like an old friend than an enemy I had bumped into. Waking up to find my lawn unexpectedly covered (it had not even been forecast), I found myself uttering the word “wow.” It looked so peaceful and made me feel like a kid again.

The snowfall was extremely wet, making for excellent snowball-making material. Unfortunately, being gently pelted by a snowball only confused my two daughters on the autism spectrum, and I could not persuade them to join in on the fun. It made me miss the sister who had followed me from New York, but whom I had left behind in California. Our snowball fights in New York were epic, at least the way I remember them.

Just as I was getting re-accustomed to the idea of winter, signs of spring suddenly appeared. First, there were tiny bursts of colorful flowers. Then, buds started forming on the bare branches. It did not take long before they burst into full bloom.

Harkening back to my childhood, spring feels like a time of renewal again. As my barren yard erupts into color, the call of the outside beckons. Layers of clothing peel off, once again exposing my skin to direct sunlight. The renewed canopy of leaves absorbs the noise from the neighboring freeway, revealing the sounds of singing birds and chirping crickets.

As I plant roots in my new hometown, I hope this appreciation for spring does not fade away. I lost it once before, and it is good to have it back in my life.