The case for the seasons

Since time out of mind, the changing seasons have inspired poets, authors and songwriters to metaphorical glory. It’s hard to name an aspect of the human condition that hasn’t been compared to some time period ushered in by a solstice or an equinox.

Thanks to the ballad by Ervin Drake, Frank Sinatra crooned to us about life in “the autumn of the year,” reassuring us of what a very good year it was. Shakespeare, along with John Steinbeck, made us long for an end to unhappiness by invoking the “winter of our discontent.” The Disney film “Bambi” gave us the notion that everyone gets “twitterpated” and falls in love in the springtime, and Florence and the Machine claimed the dog days of summer were over, though Alan Jackson assured us that “there ain’t no cure” for the summertime blues.

Nat King Cole told us about the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, and turned our attention to the falling leaves that drift by our autumn window. Robert Frost made it okay to linger in a neighbor’s woods on a snowy night, and Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne Shirley, who lived at Green Gables, made springtime in Prince Edward Island a romantic’s dream destination.

We all admit there’s a time to plant, a time to reap, a time to laugh, a time to weep, and we add the “turn, turn, turn” from the folk classic by the Byrds because it seems necessary once you’ve heard the song.

Vivaldi immortalized the sounds of The Four Seasons in his famous violin concertos, while Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons immortalized the sounds of – a powerful lead falsetto. I think I’ve distracted myself.

To get back on topic, it’s clear that the change of seasons influences humankind on a fundamental level. During the two years we lived near the equator, I craved the familiar cycle of seasons. When football games started on ESPN, I turned the air conditioning a little lower and tried to imagine sweater weather. At Christmastime, I turned the air conditioning lower yet, then drew the curtains to block out the palm trees in my front yard so I could enjoy Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in “White Christmas.” 

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