And then one night, the unthinkable happened. As Oslo slept, winter stealthily crept into our dreamy spring. We awoke to a world strewn with white. The flurries bustled about all morning, rushing to undo all that had been done. In less than a day, winter had struck back, this time with nearly a half meter high of snow.
It seemed like such a waste; all the slow, steady work of spring now completely erased. I could almost see the sagging shoulders and dismal expression as spring surveyed winters wreckage. And in my heart, I felt for spring.
I thought about how I too sometimes feel like I’ve arrived. I think I’ve finally accomplished something. I think this is good progress. And then…overnight the snow falls and I see that I’m not really at the destination yet. I’m not totally finished with my task. It seemed like progress, but I admit there is a great deal more to go.
I see my life in spring, pressing hard against winters grasp. Perhaps I value spring because of her persistent, careful labor that finally gives way to something verdant and beautiful. And yet what would spring be without winters frosty white? That is precisely what helps her grow strong in her efforts to clear the way for growth and beauty. Perhaps I need another winter too.
So I sigh as I walk past the banks of snow around me. It will take work, but spring will come again. And I feel quite certain that this time she will emerge even more exquisite – robust and radiant from not one, but two wintrous victories.