So I philosophize when I get tired of winter. Seasons are just physical spaces.
They seem like they are connected to weather and snow and flowers and things, but they are really just spaces or places.
And...If winter is a place, so is spring. And the proof is in the pudding.
I went to see for myself a couple of years ago:
From my home in Ohio Valley, I drove south through the Carolinas to Daytona Beach, Florida.
Below Columbia, South Carolina, the foliage grew thicker in the wayside trees, much thicker by Savannah, Georgia.
Below Jacksonville, Florida, the habitat changed again, the color of the woods became almost solid green.
Two myrtle flowers bloomed at a rest stop near St. Augustine. Then the signs gathered in abundance, some clover and chickweed foliage and growth on several shrubs.
When I reached Merritt Island, about halfway down the peninsula, all kinds of plants were in bloom, several violet azalea bushes in full flower; some bird-of-paradise; many bougainvilleas with blossoms, and many more types of wildflowers.
So there it was, the proof in the pudding: a long day's drive, and winter's time was shattered and disproven. It was NOT a period of time; it was a place, and I had left it. All that waiting for spring was just in my head.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with notes for the final week of Deep Winter. In the meantime, you COULD find the proof in the pudding, but it's good just to know it's waiting for you.
