The light summer nights, when darkness never quite arrives.

The deep twilight of midnight slips into morning in the blink of an eye.

The scents of summer are almost impossible to describe. Sweet, intoxicating earth. Quiet midsummer nights where all you hear is nature breathing, interrupted now and then by a bird calling out. Otherwise, silence.

Far from cities.

Another world. Just you and nature.

Nature has a way of putting things into perspective, even though I've never considered myself particularly outdoorsy.

There’s something about a summer night that feels full of possibility, strength, and happiness. I sometimes wonder if it feels this way everywhere, or if it belongs to the short northern summer. If the beauty feels so overwhelming precisely because it doesn't last.

And yet, year after year, it arrives.

I've realized how unexpectedly fond I am of our seasons.

I like all of them.

Each has its own character, its own story, its own kind of beauty.

Of course, I wish November's drizzle and slush wouldn't linger quite so long. And I wouldn't mind if spring hurried into summer a little faster.

Still, there is something deeply satisfying about the rhythm of the seasons. The quiet certainty of the year unfolding as it always has.

And those first moments when you notice a change in the air.

The first hint of autumn.
The first scent of spring.

Something is always on its way.

Something is shifting.

Something new is beginning.

Or maybe it's simply a matter of interpretation.
I happen to like that way of seeing it.

The seasons change with you, or without you.

Either thought is comforting.