Seasons of Love

College sophomore’s sitting in a philosophy class…when she said, “Love is like seasons, it buds, it flourishes, it falls, it dies.”  And we all leaned in.

Why that would come to mind this morning having been so many years ago, 1979 in fact, I do not know.

There is no remembrance of her name, nor would I recognize her decades later.

The professor said, “Help us understand.”

Philosophy professors often revert to that type of follow-up.

She spoke as a woman not as a college sophomore.

She knew.

She took a deep breath, and began.

“There are seasons of love.  There was someone in my life that I was devoted to, in life-love with, and knew, not thought, knew, I would marry.  My heart was his.  My hope was his.  Then winter came and over the course of a long winter with little sun and no warmth, the love within me died.   With no return of life.  Then I met someone new.  They made me laugh, not cry.  And it was spring and something was once again budding.  Then spring became summer and the sun and heat brought me back to life.  And during the cozy days of fall brought a peace in my heart once again.  And as winter came back, anything I felt for the previous person was dead, like a leaf that fell from a tree, lying on the ground.”

She said nothing further and looked away.

The professor asked, “Would anyone like to add to that?”

Everyone remained silent…who could add anything?

The professor followed up with, “Yeah, me neither. See you next time.”

We dismissed that day’s class.

I do not remember her, but I remember what she said almost word for word.

“Love…who can understand it?”, many writers have penned.

That college sophomore did.

She knew.