One of the most grounding things about gardening is how it teaches you to live with the seasons. I don’t just mean knowing when to plant tomatoes or harvest basil. I mean really feeling the rhythm of the year—the slow shifts in light, temperature, and mood.
As I’ve deepened my Buddhist practice, I’ve started to notice how these external cycles mirror my inner life. Just like my garden changes from season to season, my heart and mind move through their own cycles. And instead of resisting those changes, I’ve learned to honor them.
Spring: New Beginnings and Hope
In the garden, spring is a time of fresh starts. The soil softens, buds appear, and the air smells like possibility. I always get a little burst of excitement as I plant seeds, imagining what they’ll become.
Inside myself, spring feels like that too—those moments when I’m ready to start something new. It might be a fresh habit, a creative project, or a shift in mindset. There’s an energy that rises naturally, and I try to ride that wave instead of overthinking it.
Buddhism teaches the importance of beginner’s mind—approaching life with curiosity and openness. Spring is the season for that. It’s not about knowing exactly how things will turn out. It’s about having the courage to plant something and trust it will grow.
Summer: Growth and Joy
Summer in my rooftop garden is a wild, joyful time. Plants are at their fullest. Bees and butterflies visit daily. My herbs spill over their pots like they’re showing off.
In my own life, summer feels like those times when everything clicks—when I’m in flow, when my work feels inspired, when friendships are thriving. These are the seasons of abundance, and they’re worth savoring.
But summer also teaches me to stay balanced. Too much heat and growth can exhaust a garden—and a person. I’ve learned to enjoy the fullness without burning out, to take time for shade and rest even in the middle of my busiest, brightest days.
Autumn: Letting Go Gracefully
Autumn is my favorite season, but it’s also bittersweet. In the garden, it’s harvest time, but it’s also a time of decline. Plants start to fade. Leaves change color and fall. The air cools.
In my own life, autumn comes in those moments when it’s time to release something—a habit, a role, or even a relationship. It’s not always easy. Sometimes I want to cling to what was. But nature shows me that letting go is not a failure; it’s part of the cycle.
Buddhism teaches impermanence: everything changes. Autumn is a living example. The beauty isn’t in stopping the change—it’s in being present for it, and honoring what’s passing.
Winter: Rest and Reflection
Winter in Brooklyn can be quiet and stark. My rooftop garden goes still. The beds are bare except for a few hardy greens. The wind can be biting.
In my inner life, winter comes when I need to retreat, rest, and reflect. These aren’t always the most glamorous seasons, but they’re necessary. Without rest, there’s no renewal. Without stillness, there’s no clarity.
I used to fight these quieter seasons, feeling like I needed to be productive all the time. Now, I let myself lean into them. I meditate more, journal more, and do less. Winter reminds me that dormancy isn’t emptiness—it’s preparation for what’s next.
Trusting the Cycle
The biggest lesson I’ve learned from the seasons—both in the garden and in my own soul—is that no season lasts forever. The hardest winters give way to spring. The brightest summers yield to autumn. There’s a flow we can trust.
This is comforting when life feels heavy. If I’m in a winter season internally, I know it’s not permanent. If I’m in a summer season, I try to appreciate it without expecting it to last forever.
Buddhism often speaks of the Middle Way—walking a path that embraces change without clinging or pushing away. The seasons are the perfect teacher for that.
Living Seasonally in the City
It’s not always easy to live with the seasons in a place like Brooklyn, where artificial light, noise, and constant activity can make time feel flat. But my garden pulls me back into sync. I notice when the days get longer or shorter, when the wind shifts, when the soil changes texture.
Even if you don’t have a garden, you can live more seasonally. Pay attention to the foods that are in season at your market. Notice the light in the morning and evening. Let your routines and energy levels shift with the year instead of fighting them.
Your Soul’s Garden
We all have inner seasons. Some days feel like bright summer mornings; others feel like long winter nights. The key is to notice where you are, and to treat that season with respect.
If you’re in a spring season, be bold and plant seeds. If you’re in summer, celebrate and share your harvest. If you’re in autumn, let go with grace. If you’re in winter, rest deeply and trust that new growth will come.
The more I practice this way of living, the more I realize that my “seasons of the soul” aren’t something to control—they’re something to honor. And just like in the garden, there’s beauty in every stage.