Winter Begets Spring

Winter seems a harsh beast, untameable. Forcibly succeeding autumn in the deep night, winter invades, covering the land with darkness. In one fell swoop she swallows up the sun with all its vitality. The howl of winter is heard for months echoing from the highest peak to the lowest valley. Her breath, a biting chill dispelling all signs of life. Woodland creatures flee to their burrows, but cannot evade the reach of her icy grip. Trees, once fruitful, are laid bare, asleep beneath sepulchres of weighty mounds of snow. Nothing escapes.


Snow covered the landscape, continuing to fall without end. I stared through the window at a bleak wall composed of millions of individual snowflakes. Sheets of pure white snow obstructed the world around me. This was just the beginning of another long, cold winter. But my winter had begun long ago. In recent months winter had looked as though spring would soon breach the horizon. But just as my Punxsutawney friend from long ago had oft aided the winter with a few last gasps, so my winter had yet delayed the coming spring.

My journey to the peak of winter had been arduous. The process continually uncertain. The trials, in their present state, seemingly unbearable. Too long had I traversed winter's dark shadow. As I walked the same trails and traveled the all too familiar valleys the shadows deepened. The mountain tops seemed higher, every day farther from my reach. For months, I yearned for the sun to shine again. Frozen in an endless winter, I searched the tundra for the meaning of my life. I have longed for the virtue described by Aristotle; virtue to discover and serve the purpose for which I had been created.

Perhaps, winter may not be so decadent as my surroundings suggest. Perhaps, the perceived deadness is, in reality, expectant life dwelling in dormant mystery. Perhaps, comparable to a season of life, winter appears cruel and destructive, but, rather, is pregnant vitality ready to emerge. Just maybe winter is not an agent of misery, but an agent of change. The difficult, painful change that brings forth new life from the womb. Perhaps, winter is a time of reflection and renewal in preparation for a fresh, colorful spring.

The white wall still fell outside my window. Not a bleak, perilous wall. But the last garrisons to fall before the rebuilding of a more glorious city. The walls fell faster. Gravity pulled me deeper into the seat. My body soon lifted as the speeding walls coalesced to appear a white fog. The mechanical drone of the landing gear now ceased. As the plane emerged from the clouds I knew that spring had returned to my life. The sun shone brightly, a banner overlooking the clear blue sky. Light poured into the cabin. Virtue awaited.