Have you ever had a simple question you always struggle to answer when asked? For a while I struggled to define my favorite season. I found it difficult to choose – each season had its own merits, and the best one seemed to be the one at the time.
In springtime, I love the fresh crispness of the air; the exalting way that the daffodils burst out of their buds; the cool clear spring water in the streams trickling down from the mountains; and the color everywhere as everything which seemed dead returns to life.
In summer, I love the cool of the ocean in a midday swim; the sunflowers cheerfully shining up at the sky; the warm breeze tugging eagerly at your hair; and the stars sparkling, in a somber black sky over the tents in a campsite.
In autumn, I love the crunch of pumpkin leaves under boots; the rain transforming the world to a mysterious gray, with flashes of thunder in the distance; the rainbow of leaves on the trees in the parks; and the whistling leaps of the wind through the beams.
However, I realized recently that my favorite season is winter. I love the warmth of a mug of creamy hot chocolate; the lazy drifting of a crystal snowflake in the chilling air; the contrast of colors, from white snow and blue frost to cozy red Santa hats and warm gingerbread cookies; the scent of pine needles fallen under the tree; the glitter of sparkling lights on the trees in the park; and the feeling of a winter morning, spent surrounded by freshly packed snow, carving an icy fort. For me, winter is the time when I see my family and friends, and good cheer is all around.