I have several small pots of orchids on my desk. They produce magnificent blooms that last for several weeks. When the flowers die, the stalk dries up, and the plant goes dormant and quiet. A few months later, a new stalk begins to grow, and then buds, and the these intricate flowers bloom once more. While I never tire of their beauty, I have to admit that I can go days and weeks without noticing them even though they sit right in front of me on my desk. It seems that I notice them most in the days following their blooming.
I have often wondered if I would appreciate the beauty of trees and flowers and grasses and birds as much as I do if I were surrounded by them year round. In the deep throws of a long winter of ice and snow, whites and blues, and shades of grey, I am waiting impatiently for spring; for warm air heavy with the scent of living things; for a world painted once more in greens and reds; for the sound of birds; for the sight of sprouts pushing up through hard earth; for fruit trees bursting in colour. Would I love Spring as much as if I did not experience Winter?