Seasons in through the looking glass.

Where I grew up there were no discernable seasons. Maybe that’s why all my thoughts of spring are so intrinsically tied to the big, grassy plaza off the bustling avenue that intersected my university, a thousand miles and several climate zones away. That first, first day of spring was an epiphany, a sudden, marvelous introduction to the abrupt turns of a year.

So I suppose it is only fitting that I track time in seasons now. It began with the lost pregnancy, which revealed itself on the first day of fall. That fall was unkind to us, and the winter not much better. We conceived our son in the early days of the following spring, and he finally came to us in the first days of winter. And as of today he has officially experienced an entire season, his first, yet another glorious spring.