June Your Short ArtWrite Prompt
Seasons
By Logan Wrigley
Summer time is a precious commodity when you spend most of your time in the snow. Nobody hates summer time. People complain about rain, heat, cold, but no one is ever upset that it is summer time. They may be upset when precious moments of their summer are rendered obsolete by events and weather that are deemed to be less than ideal. And even those of us that, for some reason, have chosen to exist in places where summer time is more of an experience than a season, are not immune to the minor inconveniences that a little rain, or too much sunshine can bring. In fact it is quite the opposite that is true. We are more susceptible to it because of the brevity of our warm summer weather.
However, it is not summer that brings me so much joy during that time of year. It is the winter. It is the cold, the dark, the victory of black and white over the vibrancy of life and color. Countless hours making the best of a bad situation. It is during this time that my mind and my heart are prepared and primed to appreciate the life, light, and luster of summer. Because in contrast, I have lived in perpetual summer. I have lived by the equator, surrounded by people who did not know what it is like to be somewhere devoid of color. Where everything is grayscale. Some sinister coupling of black and white that visually reeks of inhospitableness. The greenery, the reds, blues, and violets that so invigorate the soul of one such as I, are themselves muted in perpetual summer simply by their lack of contrast. They are expected to be there. They are not a rare and gratifying improvement but instead a constant and forgettable work of art, like a tattoo on your back.
I myself was awed by the splendor that was boasted by the tropics, but over time it became almost as mundane to me as it was to the island natives. It wasn’t until I had endured another long winter that my appreciation for summer returned. Unfortunately I speak only from the point of view of one that has grown tired of the oppressive cold and dark and I fail to compliment, in stark contrast, the blue sky and breathtaking mountain ranges. Pristine and perfect. But even the majesty of these grand vistas are eventually muted by the breath of winter and the brevity of light in which they are visible.
But it occurs to me, when I see white alabaster homes lined up in tropical cities that it is life alone that holds color in our world. No matter what we paint, dye, or color, without life it will either be covered in snow, or bleached by the sun over time. And so it is with love. It brings color into our world, and without it we grow weary of its absence, we crave it, we want it, we need it, but when we have it all the time, unfortunately it has a tendency to lose its luster. Not that it isn’t in itself a wondrous thing, but we ourselves fail to appreciate its value and we seek new love that is bright and exciting instead of seeing that we are in the winter of our relationship, and we need to endure it and work so that we can bring about the summer once again.
My summer is coming. I hope that I appreciate it more this year.
Logan was born in Idaho but raised in Alaska. He spent two years in the Dominican Republic and returned to Alaska after ten years, during which time he accomplished getting married and having two children. Logan has a degree in exercise science. He says, "I have always enjoyed writing, but I'm too lazy to do what it takes to go from tolerable to talented."
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