Sunday, January 2, 2011

Winter Oranges


The cold crisp mornings of winter. The sight of our breath rising on the air.
- Santa Montefiore's "The French Gardener"

I have had the good fortune of living in a town that grows oranges; they are coveted worldwide for their particular bursting rich flavor. I have also lived in other remarkable places where every single season is clearly defined: winter, spring, summer, and fall. And what I have found in considering the two is that in places where oranges grow, the boundaries of seasons are far less noticeable, which requires one to pause long enough to actually see what is going on. A New Year brings on similar indicators of restrained change... and it occurs to me that it is worthwhile to take the time to notice.

1 comment:

Betsy said...

Okay, I am slowly figuring out how to get in right and be able to respond...simple, when you know what to do! How's that for inspiring...
Anyway, here in FL we've already had about 5 unseasonal freezes this 'winter' impacting literally millions (of people and dollars) as fruit and veggies are spoiled - and also being active with a community garden where we each lovingly watch over our tiny patch as basil leaves curl black and tomato vines look very, very chilled. I appreciate your oranges nestled here beautifully, comfotably in the frost. There are ways to avoid the spoilage and instead end up with hearty, flavor-bursting fresh good, good things to eat - and savor with all our senses. That's what the growers, the gardeners here in FL learn and practice. How's about in life - finding the Way forward, or just to a haven for momentary protection when the frost comes along and while hard things pass on through.

About Me

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I have always been inspired by my Grandfather's particular generosity and encouragement, along with his love for others and nature. His spirit lives on, and the influence is quietly with me as I write and share. This is my small offering that I pray will bless others and allow them to become Simply Inspired. warmly, karen -xok.
Each day provides its own gifts.

- Marcus Aurelius

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