The Seasons

By Sarah Monaghan

I have always found that being in nature helps my mental health, no matter the season.

The springtime is green with life, and nature is rejuvenated. The air tastes cool and damp, and the rain makes streams by the side of the road. The pitter-patter on the roofs is comforting. Flowers bloom and I skip around with my dog in the wonderful rain. I can smell the fresh earth and the familiar scent of wet dog.

The summer sun burns bright, leaving its kisses along my face and arms. I feel red hot, the wooden deck is lava. I hop and dance from bare foot to bare foot until I reach the pool. In again, out again, my swimsuit like a second skin. I read as I seep into the pages of my book, and I feel so grateful for this life.

Leaves fall, and life moves on. Trees conceal their dying foliage with a beautiful sunburst of colours. The warm browns and oranges distract me for a while. I step anywhere but on the sidewalk, crunching as many leaves as I can, while the wind whips my hair. I look around at the still-sunny world and wonder what could ever go wrong.

Along comes winter. I bundle up, but my face peeks out and turns rosy. I am reluctant to even come outside. The darkness seems to cloud my mind and make me feel blue. I see the falling snow and my tongue attempts to imitate my eyelashes that catch snowflakes. I am soon running around and no longer mind the cold one bit. I head for the neighbourhood rink. Frost grasps at my face as I skate, and my too-small helmet compresses my head, but I don’t have a care in the world. I am an artist and the rink is my canvas. I am a bird who glides and slices through the air. I stay here for hours until my toes are numb and my head aches. My shivering hands untie the laces of my skates. Hot drinks entice me as I walk home, in a better mood than before, thanks to the outdoors.