One cannot be afflicted with seasonal allergies, as am I, and fail to perceive the inherent balance of Nature. Reward and suffering are inextricably bound together in the seasons. The mild weather of both spring and fall, with their many delights to the senses, is marred by either pollen or mold spores. Summer and winter are free from these irritants, but are less comfortable to the skin. During the temperate seasons, the butterflies and brilliant blooms or marvellous autumn leaves must be viewed through itchy, watery eyes; the sweet birdsong is punctuated by sneezing. Yet, while shivering in winter or sweltering , mosquito-bitten, in summer, the thought often occurs: "At least I can breathe freely."
An optimist would conclude that there's always something to be thankful for; I find this philosophy admirable, but I do sometimes wish for one season of sheer, unadulterated pleasure. But then, I suppose this could only lead to my being discontented three-quarters of the year, so perhaps things are best as they are.
In any case, Happy Spring, everyone.
I'm the author of the literary novel Wobbly Barstool, a Victorian-era tale of friendship, love, and perseverance.