the lost season

It's snowing heavily outside. Again. (still?) I've been re-reading a number of my favourite books lately and came across this passage in Hemingway's " A Moveable Feast". Feels eerily familiar today.

" Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. In those days though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed."