Outside the window of that small house on Whipple Tree Lane, the world transformed with the changing seasons. The sun would set, a small boy anticipating its descent. Gazing out into the open world, childish unawareness blinded the boy to the true beauty around him. The boy looking over the sill was me.

The cold September days came quickly, and the blood red leaves began to drip from the trees to the dry dirt below. The crunch of these newly fallen leaves enveloped my young ears as I waded through the calm forest. The toads lept from rock to rock, hunting for their last meals before the freeze. The fish moved deep, and the squirrels began hiding their nuts. The earth was preparing, it seemed, to rest for the cold winter months. The sky was shrouded with clouds, the air was sharp. A cool wind rustled the hair on my head as I strolled through the yard. Pumpkins sat upon the porch, with dim orange light escaping their cackling faces. The winds whistled through the split metal gutter, while the crows cawed noisily. The crows always cawed, it seemed, as I aimlessly wandered those fall afternoons, experiencing the autumnal season, but never appreciating the diverse colors of the falling leaves, and the natural slumber the world was soon to commence.

Inside the small detached garage, amber light bled through blinded windows, giving the soft January snow a look of jaundice. Icicles hung down from the house, glinting in the light from the living room. A thick, airy layer of white blanketed every inch of the ground. Nevertheless, I bundled up in my snow gear: scarf, jacket, snow pants, boots, gloves. The frigidity of the outside air transformed my breath into a cloud of vapors. In the woods, vernal pools had frozen solid. I slid across their slick surfaces, graceless, into an eminent fall. Looking deep into the woods, the world appeared to have become black-and-white. Grey squirrels climbed the barren branches of the old oak trees, in search of something, something that had never concerned me. They were free, roaming the vastness of my yard with the tenacity of a child. I watched them with a tender curiosity. I watched as the powdery snow drifted down outside the window of my bedroom on Whipple Tree Lane, too engrossed with my new Christmas toys to appreciate the quiet nature in which the snow floated gently towards the ground.

The warm April sun soaked into my face as I played in the neighbor’s yard, parents actively monitoring. The trees soon became rejuvenated by the light of spring, and my jeans quickly turned to shorts. The spring peepers emerged from their slumber to sing their soft melodies, their lullabies putting me to sleep. Cool rains poured over my yellow rain jacket as I ran about the driveway, my galoshes splitting each puddle. The serene pitter-patter of the rain against the driveway drowned out the sounds of the crows. On the moist driveway, there were worms to be collected, and imported to the garden to aid in the flower’s growth. Later, the skies became devoid of clouds, and the rolling hills of the neighborhood had unveiled themselves. Outside my window, the sun had awakened, parting the skies once again. I paid no attention to the rolling hills or the orange skies, as I drifted my neon-green three-wheeler around the dusty driveway.

Soon the hot sun would beat down upon my neck as I searched the swampy forest for frogs and toads. I wallowed through muddy puddles, my toes curling as they touched the mucky bottom. Green moss cascaded over fallen trees and ageless stones, its soft phyllids providing a perfect place to sit and rest from the hot day. I would lay there, watching the sun perforate the limbs of the trees, glimmering rays casting light upon small patches of the woodland flora. Trekking on, no stone would be left unturned. It was not long before the heat of the day intensified, and I would soon be escaping the grasp of the forest, heading home, and asking my mother for Kool-Aid on that hot July day. Sipping my drink on the deck, the life around me flourished. The full, green limbs of the old oak trees swayed in the warm winds, their rustling filling the air with sound. Ants crawled across the wooden planks, while bees were buzzing around my head. Snakes slithered into the pile of firewood, while birds chirped in glee. The crabapples were falling from the trees, and the playtime seemingly lasted forever. Each night I would sit by sill of my window in that house on Whipple Tree Lane, watching the red sun drift further beneath the horizon, thinking about the next day of play.

Outside the window of that new house on Holcomb Road, a 15 year old boy glanced out the window of his second story bedroom. The sun would rise on a cool morning, a much older boy spectating its ascent. Out this window, the seasons would change at seemingly unimaginable speeds. Staring out into the (once) vast field, the pace of life had blinded the boy to the picturesque beauty of the world he lived in. This boy was me.

The soft January snow descended from the gray sky mesmerizingly slow. A soft blanket  had tucked the flourishing nature in once again, leaving behind an eerily still, glacial landscape. Outside my window, rabbits pranced childishly across the yard, playing frantically in the new snow. I gave them no notice -- I buttoned up my dress shirt and put on a black tie. Woodpeckers beat against the trees, their loud pecking droning in my head. My shoes pressed into the snow with satisfying smoothness. The frigid, still air bit at my ears and reddened my nose as I entered the car. Outside the car window, flakes of snow landed flat against the glass, their geometric shapes on full display. Dark clouds shrouded the sky as dusk settled in. I paid no mind to the flurried night, because we had arrived, to say our last goodbyes.

The smell of misty rain in the air encapsulated my senses during that cool April day. Outside, worms unearthed themselves, giving in to the early birds. Treefrogs chirped from their treetop perches, their beautiful shrills deafened by the thoughts of the day’s tasks. There was much to do, and experiencing the world was apparently not on my agenda. Exiting the bus, a warm breeze blew past my face as the sun peered from behind a cloud, its glare temporarily blinding me. Annoyed, I marched inside. Through the glass I could see deer grazing the fields. Further beyond, the forest lit up with a vibrant green hue, so as to express their delight with the sun’s return. Yellow dandelions had begun to perforate the thawing ground, their leaves bright as the sun. I looked back to the stack of papers on my desk, awaiting my attention. Was it April already?

The calm, warm mornings of July had come. Mist swirled atop the surface of the still water. The purr of the engine cast ripples across the glassy surface. The amber sun peeked from behind the cattails, casting their shadows far. Loons called across the lake, beckoning for others. Eaglets chirped from atop the tall, skinny tree, in a nest is wide as our boat. Turtles surfaced, their noses poking just inches above the water. Otters played in the abandoned beaver dams, while fish surfaced, gulping down mayflies gliding across the water. I set my fishing rod down, taking it all in. I watched as nature proliferated this 9000 acre sanctuary. Everything appeared to move in slow motion.

Upon my return home, the red sun had begun to set below the horizon. Standing behind my window, I watched the sun subside, plummeting below the tree line. A tear cascaded down my cheek as I viewed the sun’s descent.

Oh, how much I had missed, blindsided by the speed of life. I had grown older, and my schedule had become so saturated with responsibilities and tasks that I no longer took the time to stare out my window like I once had. I had become old enough to understand and take in the true beauty of the natural world, but I had grown too busy with other activities to do so. My world had changed from one of childish naivety to plain neglection of nature's fine details that make it so alluring. Change is a good thing, though. As I had changed from a child too caught up in play to a teenager too caught up in schoolwork and sociality, the world had changed as well, from the warm, bright days of summer to the cold, dark days of winter. Without the changing of the seasons, many natural processes would stop. The world relies on change. Without change, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. There’s something special about sitting at the sill, and finally comprehending the meaning of the change outside my window.