Dreaming of Winter

Although I have lived in Northern California since 1971 my bones still hold deep memories of long Ohio winters - endless days of gray, wet, snow, slush, biting cold, ice - always clinging to the promise of spring at the long end of the tunnel. As I stand on Stanyan Street in San Francisco on this February day, arms stretched between a colorful Liquid Amber tree as it drops its red/yellow leaves and the ethereal snow fall of a blossoming Plum, I spin in confusion at their silent offerings to the earth. I can't help but wonder...what happened to winter?

I know from my years here that drought calls for change and adaptation - from the water sparing way I brush my teeth to the tinder dry forests across the state that seduce fire's devastation. However, in a good year the seed quietly hunkers down during the wet winter months generating a storehouse of energy to grow its beauty in the coming spring and summer. In some way don't we require the same thing? Those cold rainy days that slow us down enough to turn inward for contemplation and dreaming? But what happens to the tender seeds of our beautiful visions when winter doesn't come? 

—Gail