For the most part, I am a creature of season. Whatever the current season in which I find myself is my favorite. In summer I love the long days, green and colorful landscapes, foods fresh from the garden. In fall, the colors draw me in….orange, red, gold….all fall in my color palette and I love being surrounded by the vibrant, warm shades that also fill my closet. Spring breaks my heart with its promise. Mud turning to grass. Buds working overtime to reach for the Sun, to open to beauty and color and hope. And when winter arrives, the snow falling and temperatures inviting a slower rhythm, the gift of going inside both literally and spiritually, always draws me in and helps me to find that still, quiet center that holds me through all the seasons. This full display of birth, life, death and rebirth is a gift I treasure living in the Midwest.

No one needs to go too far these days before the conversation turns to weather. It is a signature of Minnesota-speak any time of year but it has been particularly present these last weeks. I have not yet spoken to another human yet this morning but I know when I do that the majority of the conversation with be about the weather. When snow falls in April,more than ten inches in some places, it is guaranteed to be the main thrust of nearly every verbal encounter that happens today. This large dumping of snow combined with the slate of freezing temperatures we’ve endured the last months has many people weary, woeful and down right angry.

But really, what is there to do? It is a lesson in letting go, isn’t it? There really is not a single thing we can do about the weather. It is one of those amazing life lessons of knowing what we can control and what we can’t and as our recovery friends will tell us ‘the wisdom to know the difference’. So even in this winter that will not end the rhythm of it all has something to offer.

That said many of us have been practicing acts of hope that allow us to thumb our noses at the snow and cold that has taken up residence outside our doors and also in our bones. Of course there are those who have escaped to warmer climates. They have wriggled their toes in the sand and allowed the reflection of the sun off water to bring color to their faces. But others, like those in my household, have brought promise to their lives by bringing home cut flowers all winter to break up the portrait of whiteness. And even better is the practice of forcing bulbs to connect us with the unseen work that is being done far below the snow and frozen ground outside our windows. For the last few weeks we have had daffodils pour forth yellow into the frigid air we are breathing. Purple hyacinths have emerged from their bulbous form sending not only color but a sweet scent into our nostrils. Tulips have also sprung up from pots, red and white with green coats shielding their blooms unfolding slowly, slowly until they form their sunburst that brings a smile to even the dourest face.

Just inside the doors that lead to our deck, the same opening that will soon be our entrance to spring and summer fresh air, sits a huge pot of tulips. This gift from friends came home with us as an offering of love and affection over the loss of my mother-in-law. At their arrival they stood stick straight, green shoots at attention like soldiers whose feet had been planted in black quick sand. No sign of bloom or blossom could be seen. But even in the darkest, coldest of winters the Sun continued its work of life-bringing through the glass of the door. Warm rays pierced that same door that shelters us from wind, rain and snow, pulling, pulling the very promise out of the bulbs which began their work in the darkness of basement walls.

In the last week this transformation came to completion. Each morning we noticed first one and then another opening its face to the light. What a welcome gift! Like parents watching a child grow and become itself, we watched as the tulips made their way into the world. In doing so they have given us such joy and hope for the next season while we remain fully inside these wintry days.

The snow will melt. The cold will disappear. The ground outside will soften and life will once again pulse. Another season will evolve carrying its own lessons, its unique gifts. For now we are invited to remember the rhythm, the sacred movement, that exists in each. To remember and harvest the wisdom of holding on,of letting go,of all we can control and all we can’t.