Frau Holle by Catrin Welz-Stein

If there is such a concept as weathering life, you shall find it within
yourself.

The passing of the seasons is an externalization of our interior; you
cannot stop the snow from falling, but you can decide if the sight that
greets your eyes is that of a plethora of mesmerizing cottonballs of cold
meant to inspire you with its intricate beauty, or a storm of bitter icy tears
that is meant to scar your skin with pain. You cannot decide when the
leaves fall, but you can revel in the glorious staining of their colors, or
mourn the barrenness of the branches. You cannot choose when spring
will deck the trees in the leafy colors of resurrection, but you can choose
to see a lovely tapestry of the softest emerald green, or the green of
slime and vomit that spews strangely from the blackness of naked boughs.

Your tears are the icy sting of December’s sleet or the soothing rain of
June’s soft storms. Your laughter is the cackling of a warm winter fire, or
the sizzling of a vicious wildfire in the drought. Your heart is the drooping
petals of the rose—or the bursting of gold and red of leaves, scattering
along the four winds to tickle the hearts of those around you.

If only you could understand: such power you hold within you…

~Angreek87