Human Life and the Seasons

HUMAN LIFE AND THE SEASONS By T. R. Kelly A boy looked out upon the world and laughed for joy. He lay upon his back, looking up through the gently waving branches of the lofty trees. He felt the soft, caressing embrace of the warm earth. He saw the great dome of the sky and the drifting, diaphanous clouds. His senses were filled with the fragrance of the earth, the flowers, the pungent herbs. He heard the marvelous symphony of Nature — the birds, the bees, the soft rustle of leaves, the subdued murmur of the mountain brook. As he watched the golden flood of sunlight pouring down through the leafy canopy above him, he stretched out his hands and felt a wonderful kinship with the moving water, the flood of gold in the air, the flowers, the birds, and the great dome of the sky. He said, "Life is good." And he did not know that what he called life was really love. Soon there came a time when there was no sun; when the clouds hung low upon the mountainside, and the cold wind piled the fallen leaves in heaps upon the bare earth. The trees spread out their bare arms, and the rain poured out of a leaden sky. The boy ran through the piles of fallen leaves and among the bare trunks of the trees. He threw back his head and let the rain beat upon his upturned face. He stretched out his arms and laughed, for he loved the wind and the rain and fallen leaves. And he knew that soon the soft zephyrs of spring would again call the crocuses and violets and the green carpet of grass from under the forest mould; that the trees would bud forth again and in place of decay there would be life, beauty, and joy. Years came and went. The boy, now a man, loved the high, snow-covered peaks and burning desert sands even as he had loved the trees, the flowers, and the sun shining through the leaves in those other years. He would lie at night beneath the open sky and watch the majestic sweep of the moon and stars across the black curtain of the sky, and feel the wonderful silence of desert spaces, and he would laugh, for he felt himself as a part of the mighty forces and manifestations of the universe. He rememberd the ancient Tishbite who, from his rocky cave, looked out upon the tempest and hurricane, the smiling valley and rugged mountain, in vain attempt to find his God, and then in the stillness of the night heard a still, small voice. The man, too, heard the voice, it was the voice of God in Nature in her myriad forms, calling, beckoning, inviting, impelling. Love came into the man's life. Love filled the world with a radiant glow. He knew at last the meaning of the sun pouring its flood of gold through the canopy of forest leaves. He knew why the

620 IMPROVEMENT ERA marvelous symphony of Nature had meant life to him in those other years. They were love, and love had come to him. But there came a time when the man did not laugh. The soft, alluring haze of Indian Summer dimmed the sharp outlines of the rugged mountains. The autumn sun filled the air with a subdued radiance, the trees put on their brilliant coats of maroon, and scarlet, and yellow, and the stream called to him with its gentlest, most alluring song. But the man could not see the beauty; he could not hear the tender call of Nature in her gentlest mood. He could not stretch out his hands and fill his soul with the glories above and around him, for love was dying. Through the long vigil of days and weeks and months until the end, the man's soul was torn with deepest anguish and the blackness of darkness overshadowed him. He could see no flood of golden sunlight filling the air. There was no music in Nature — there seemed to be no God. But he thought of the great singer of Israel who had loved Nature as few had loved her; who saw in the firmament the handiwork of the Almighty, and who had sung of the smiling fields, and still waters, and softly rolling hills. The man remembered how, in time of greatest sorrow, David had lifted his eyes unto the hills, and had laid aside his sack cloth and ashes, and had regained his vision of life and beauty and love. The man said to himself, "The world is the same world. The music, the love, the beauty, are there, but I cannot see them. I must regain my vision of life, beauty, and love, or I shall become blind. I shall be unable to see the wonderful things about me — the things that first awakened my soul. I, too, will lift mine eyes from the depths of sorrow to the sun-kissed hills of faith, endeavor, and duty." And bye and bye he began to see again the great dome of the sky and the softly floating clouds, and the sunshine flooding the earth with gold. And he saw in the mighty forces and tender beauty and marvelous music of God's Nature, the love which for a little space had been cen- tered in a beautiful personality. He remembered the words, "Love faileth not." The man came again to the lofty mountains and deep canyons and overshadowing trees of his childhood. He heard again the soft mur- mur of the brook, the hum of insects, the melody of birds. He lay upon the ground and felt again the soft, caressing embrace of the warm earth as in the days of his boyhood awakening when he had said, "Life is good." But now he said, "This is Love." And he stretched out his hands and turned his face toward the sunshine pouring in golden streams through the trees. Salt Lake City, Utah.