What follows is from John O'Donohue from his book BEAUTY The Invisible Embrace
CREATION IS IMBUED WITH EROS. EACH LANDSCAPE, EACH SEASON has it's own quiet Eros. In contrast to the glory of autumnal colour which is like the flaming of a final twilight, winter is a chaste season. Nothing flourishes. Every field and tree is cleaned back to the bleak grey whatever muted colour endures seems ghost-like. But as ever, the circle travels on to it's own beginning. And just when amnesia seems absolute, the first tones of spring commence their flaming.
Within a short while the exiled Eros of nature stages a magnificent return. From dark under-life of cold fields, infinite tribes of grass ascend. Skeleton trees allow themselves a shimmering of leaves. Flowers arrive as if this were the place they had always dreamed. Having travelled through thousands of miles of sky and ocean, swallows return to there favorite holiday nests in outdoor sheds. Local birds become passionate architects high up in the network of trees. The terse silence of winter has given way to the whole symphony of spring.
Eros has awakened. The shadow-dream of winter is coming to life in every corner. Birth is the inner and outer song of spring. If winter is the oldest song, then spring is the youngest season. The Eros of the earth calls forth the beauty of spring.