The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. –Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
Spring and Autumn are transitional sets of time, not really seasons at all. Summer and Winter are the true seasons. Spring and fall are simply the means whereby we reach those destinations, much like our daily life moves us between life and death. Adoration for the seasonal transitional times are quite possibly because they are so short lived we don’t have time to grow weary of them, or because the intensity of their origin and destination make them easier to enjoy, or maybe because they hold growth within their experience. Spring expands into movement and vitality, autumn sheds and constricts into sleep and pause. It’s so easy to focus on what has been or what is to come, but transitions like spring and summer demand attention, demand presence.
We have finally bid adieu to winter in our part of the world, the season of sleep. The world was not dead, it laid in wait for sun and warmth again. Sleeping flowers, waiting for bloom. Demanding notice, if only for a short time. The greater sleep experience lies within, our infinite self sleeping on without notice, but once awakened it will not grow and expand undetected.
Our perception changes us, by us. Infinity within, perpetually sleeping until ready to awaken and see with new eyes.