And just like that, I am one year older than I was last October! Funny how time seems to fly faster with each passing year! Does anyone else experience that?
The people who know my age would say that I am not old at all (barely a wee babe, actually), but I promise you that my knees crack more loudly than they did last year (especially when going down the stairs).
Because the seasons don’t change in Bocas, I think I have been experiencing “eternal summer.” When it’s 97°F (36°C) with 90% humidity in the first week of October, you tend to forget that its Autumn. Growing up in Wisconsin, I was used to the physical changes of the seasons, not only the passing of literal time. The air would get crisper, the days shorter and the leaves burst out in brilliant color. I miss those physical markers of the changing seasons.
All in all, I am eternally grateful for the last year and the places I have been, the people I have met, the food I have consumed and the God who goes before me.
So, as the reality of another year passing sets in, I want to share a poem that I wrote a couple of years ago. When originally writing it, I didn’t quite understand how much it would resonate with me in the years to come, but I hope that, like it did for me, it gives honor to the passing of time and the changing of seasons (whether physical, mental or emotional).
Seasons
Spring
Life begins in Spring.
Shy buds break the surface,
yawning under the warm light emitted by the Father of the sky.
Light signals the beginning of something greater
and more beautiful than the last drops of the early dew.
Like the light, warm breeze tickling the tall oak’s tough bark,
the soft promise of romance, and the sweet beginning of something worthwhile is joyous.
Summer
Life flourishes in Summer.
Billowing, golden plains await the arrival of the harvest season,
The beautiful rest before the new earth.
The ground sighs at the sweet release of all her children into freedom.
Sunshine dances upon the tips of lime-green grass
and the ripening oranges nearby.
It will be a year of plenty, they think.
Skies as blue as the cerulean sea,
eyes that share a vastness with the ocean itself.
A speckled night sky, reminding us why our ancestors marveled at its radiance.
Again, and again the sun brings day and night,
Each day building on the day before,
growing into a song of unity.
Autumn
Autumn brings rich but difficult harvest.
Whispering leaves on an autumn Maple,
bright orange gourds smiling in the plentiful, crisp air.
The smell of old tilled earth bringing summer spoils and chapped hands to the dinner table.
Pine needles crinkling under the feet of two lovers who haven’t aged but look older.
She has crow’s feet because she giggles so much,
and his laugh lines stretch to his ears.
The quiet world seamlessly and vibrantly envelops them in the last autumn sunset.
Winter
Winter brings dormancy.
Numb hands grasp for warm mug handles,
lunging for even more marshmallows.
A calming fire ensnares a willing observer while puffing black smoke into the air.
Flakes fall in a stillness that even God delights in.
Outside nothing dares move;
a rigidity has fallen over the land.
Quiet crunching brings awareness to the value of lifeblood.
Tiny bulbs anxiously lie in wait for the first sign.
This has been a difficult season, but they are strong, and hearty and Spring will come again.
As the seasons change, so do people.
The weathering of time, distance and life begin a metamorphic transformation initiated by an omnipotent and graceful hand.
Here’s to new seasons and the passing of sweet life.
As I reflect on the last year of life. I marvel, and I am grateful. So, instead of making this a long, sappy blog post (which, who am I kidding, it’s already become that) I will share some of my favorite pictures of the last year.
Photos (top to bottom, left to right)
Eating pizza on the peak of a mountain in southern Italy after hiking the peak with my roommates Antonia and Colin (not pictured).
A crew of scientists living at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute (STRI) in July of 2022.
A Wisconsin s'more (because it is a delightful summer treat, especially when lounging by a lake).
Katie and Melanie, two fellow scientists at STRI.
A group of girls at STRI. We got together most Saturday mornings to make pancakes together.
Katie, a fellow scientist, after a night of salsa dancing in Panama!
A small family at STRI during September 2022.
Playing Jenga in Bocas Town after a long week of work at the Smithsonian! I managed to get a block out without knocking the entire tower down!
Two different groups at STRI during the Summer of 2022. We had people studying sponges, urchins, corals, fish and frogs!
*see* 9
Drinking a cappuccino in Muggia, Italy, whilst simultaneously consuming an enormous amount of gelato.
Carolina, my lab mate at STRI, and I after collecting fireworms from the ocean!
Ally, a fellow scientist at STRI, who managed to stay still enough for a small gecko to climb onto her arm.
The view from Isla Carenero (Carenero Island) in Bocas del Toro.
Anushka, a fellow scientist, relaxing on the beach on Isla Zapatillas, one of the tiny islands facing the open ocean on the edge of the Bocas del Toro archipelago.
Bocas at night! A boat taxi makes its way towards town during the evening sunset hours.
Next week, I promise, I will get back into science.
But for now, live generously, live fully and take heart that seasons come and go. So no matter if you are in winter or spring, new life awaits, and we do not remain in one season forever.
In thankfulness,
The miss in missadventures