“What ya gona do in the winter when there Ain’t noth’n grow’n in the garden?”

Seems like there will always be a garden, though there wasn’t one just this past February.  Seems like the trees will always be green; like there are just suppose to be flowers.  It seems like it should always be warm outside at midnight; like shoes are always optional; like the day should last till nine o’clock.  I know it is just a season.  But seasons are funny that way.  They lull you into a trance.   An endless summer trance.  It’s always summer.  In the dead of winter it seems like it is always winter.  Spring and fall don’t count.  They come and go too fast.  Summer and winter are the real seasons. “ It will surely be unbearably hot forever”.  “It will be endless cold and misery forever”.  The mind has too much trouble seeing a whole quartet of seasons.  We know of seasons.  We can tell you what is going to come.  But at a certain level.  We always think the season we are in is all there is.