The snow has cleared up in the yard, except for a dot of white here or there. The trees are bare, but they don’t look as brittle; the sunlight doesn’t seem to fade even as the sun goes down, each ray feels a bit more intense. It’s like late Autumn, just a bit milder.
Seasons go in cycles, this we know. What’s harder to know is how the cycles affect us: perhaps freedom is reading into a single moment, considered apart from the cycles. In this case, freedom is the quest for purity – it is free as it ignores all universal laws and attempts to find meaning in just one thing. We have devoted many poems and songs to this practice throughout the ages.
Others try to determine the laws governing the cycles exactly, as if those laws were meant for breakable bodies and minds.
The existential questions “resolve” because we can see, not so much because we merely exist. The light will always be here periodically. The issue is what we want to do when it is there.