It’s like we forget Spring. The minute the temperature goes up a bit, the snow melts, the rains dry up a bit, the snowdrops start coming out as soon as the cameras. ‘What a nice day it is’ we say to each other, passing dog walkers, ignoring the torrential rain of the past twelve hours. If there is no wind, it is a nice day. The sun is rising higher in the morning now and I no longer need to put the light on. Are we back to normal? Maybe nearly. Once my head clears a bit and I’m back exercising then I’ll know for sure. The desire is there, the will is not.
But still, each spring we take an interest in these small things again because we have forgotten what they are, what simple pleasures seeing daffodils, bluebells, snowdrops or dandelions brings. I yearn for the meadow and when it dries we shall go to one. And we shall climb hills and walk through woods before the nettles get high. I say it every season but this feeling of spiritual renewal makes spring my second favourite time of year. Is it autumn? Is it the heavy snow and bright northern sun of the dead of winter, or the ease of July nights? Or is it the promise of right now, the lead up to Easter and the arrival of lovely lovely spring.