With the chance of snow — yes, snow — in the forecast for parts of the Maritimes yesterday, I rushed around last evening and took some cuttings of my geraniums before the temperature bottomed out. They’re in water until I can prepare them for planting.
Snow? Wasn’t it just days ago we were all so excited at the prospect of spring?! And here we are, just two months away from Christmas. Again. Sigh. As I sat and pondered this with the patio doors wide open, a lone bird call emanated from the pine trees that surround the property. Its call was a mere peep that reminded me of the spring peepers — that much anticipated froggy chorus that signals spring’s arrival.
It was that series of peeps from that little bird that got me thinking about the change of seasons and our extra sensory perception. I’m not referring to the ESP we commonly call our “sixth sense”, though in a way, you could label it that. I mean the ingrained ability to sift out the first signs of every season — those first sounds, sights, and smells that set our pulses racing and our excitement soaring. Extra. Sensory. Perception.
That bird call was able to conjur up the excitement of hearing those first tentative spring peepers…that first morning that you open your curtains and feel the sun’s warmth fill the room…that rush of still-cool evening air that holds the scent of newly unfurled leaves and the light of longer days.
In the same way, it isn’t difficult to close your eyes and imagine the first rich earth that sifts through your hands when summer finally arrives…to smell the fragrance of the first lawn mowing…to feel the heat of midday…to hear the early morning chatter of birds and children at play in the distance…to feel the satisfaction of a neatly tidied garden.
I still get excited about the first snowfall and the delicious iciness of winter’s cold wind…that sighs through pine trees and taps against windows…the crackle of fire…the aroma of homemade soups and freshly baked bread…the coziness of a quilt.
And when winter is upon us once again, we’ll think back to this autumn and marvel at the profusion of color it offered…we’ll recall the scent of wood smoke that spiraled from neighboring chimneys at sunset…the crunch of leaves under foot…the sweetness of crisp apples…the ripening of the land.
Come winter’s end, we’ll do it all over again. Extra. Sensory. Perceptions. A circle of hope and anticipation.
Perhaps hope is our sixth sense.