Seasons.

In New York, the seasons had a rhythm.  I’m a Christian druid (a combination which seems impossible only to those who are very familiar with neither); this rhythm of seasons is vitally important to me.  It’s how I live; it’s what I live by.  How I know where I am, what’s happening in my life, and what’s supposed to be coming my way.  Seasons are something that I can feel deep in my bones.

There are no seasons in Louisiana.

We joked the seasons in New York were cold, blizzard, less cold and construction; here it’s hot, REALLY HOT, sorta hot, and are you sure it’s winter?

But honestly, there are about two days worth of leaves changing colors.  The earth doesn’t cool down slowly-rapidly (because it always feels like it’s both); seasons don’t ease into each other in a predictable pattern.  I can’t feel the earth falling asleep as the snow begins to fly because there is no snow.  It’s springtime now, and I couldn’t feel the earth waking, either.

Seasons are different, and strange, and I’m not sure how to feel about this.  Weather can change an awful lot in WNY, but always within the boundaries of season.  Here, it’s 50 today and will be 75 tomorrow.  I will wear a hoodie and a sweatshirt one day and sweat in a t-shirt the next.  There is no rhythm to life here, deep in a place where nature is all around me.

It just is, all the time, and I feel lost.  It feels like summer’s here, but it’s only March.  My expectations of when things are happening is completely and totally off.  It’s only mid-terms time, and it feels like the semester should be over any day now.  It feels different.

I don’t know how to feel.

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