Father's Day was the last time I got to talk to my grandpa, and he told I was beautiful and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It meant a lot to me then and it means even more now.
When the earth is covered with a blanket of pure white and
much of nature is dormant, when the pace of human activity slows and a warm
hearth and a good book make being inside very enjoyable, when the short days
are too long and the long nights are too short, then I think Winter is the most
beautiful season of the year.
When white turns to brown and brown turns to green, when
seeds again promise new beauty, new food and continuity of life, when all of
nature revives and shakes off the lethargy of winter, then I think Spring is
the most beautiful time of year.
When windows stay open around the clock, when a cool breeze
is longed for, when the road to everywhere beckons, when perspiration is
socially acceptable, when rain refreshes and lightning illuminates and thunder
booms, then I think Summer is the most enjoyable time of year.
When green turns brown and yellow and red and gold, when
barns and bins and bottles are full and when seeds are saved, when the first
fingers of frost touch mine, when six-year-olds excitedly run to school, eager
to learn, when preparation ends and performance begins, when all is in
readiness, then I think Fall is the most enjoyable time of the year.
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall ---
I love you, Grandpa!
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