As a powerful source of unity among fellows, the weather is a powerful force.

A young Republican banker, the first banker in her family, Evangelical Christian, meets an aged Democratic labor activist, first of his family to attend college. His spirituality consists of weekly yoga class and a fondness for all things Tibetan. They share a picnic table with a Moslem family of three from Delhi.

This mild, sunny Spring day, they find themselves together having fish ‘n’ chips on Fisherman’s Wharf.

“Nice day!”

“Oh yes, very nice!”

Smiles all around. Everyone has interacted amicably and can retreat to their private selves, comforted to be among like-minded companions.

Maybe one of them glumly reflects, “Where is the fog?”

But to express a distaste for weather most people like, proclaim a taste for weather most people dislike, would take a leap into confrontation that would accomplish nothing but to establish one’s self as the pariah, the odd one out. The sad case– by the Sun, driven into a dark room, shades drawn.

Youngsters prefer Spring. The fully-bloomed embrace Summer. Romantics cling to Autumn.

But who prefers Winter? Sometimes, those who have preferred every other season first.

A love for Spring may not survive the prickings of the thorns roses keep hidden.

After weeks of heatwave drought harsh enough to wilt rhododendrons, Summer wears out its welcome.

Autumn can bring the hunger one no longer hopes will ever be sated.

Winter comes, and is just– here.

The trees, so beautiful with their blooms, leaves, and colors? Just a bunch of branches. The soft green field? Semi-underwater. Cold winds break trees in half and scatter them in streets and across rooftops. After the workday begins, the unseen Sun rises. Before 5:00, the unseen Sun has set.

But Autumn is over. Last year’s fleeting landscape has run its course. Branches begin to swell with the maturity that unfolds in the darkness of Winter, to unfold when the Earth and the Sun indicate the time is nigh to unfold, stretch out, and stroll out through the world again.

One who has bloomed, and thrived, and died before, can find within, a fragile, yet indominitable, new bloom.

Come to terms with the past. Clear the head, open the eyes, and look forward again in these long three months of Winter.