Another season draws to a close to welcome the next. And what a season. Spring. Spring with all its promise, the beginning of summer nights, the daffodils, the new rhubarb and the asparagus. Spring with the storing of winter coats and putting away the thick jumpers. And later on (but as I write, not yet) – the first outing without a coat at all.
The clocks have changed and I can resume my after-work strolls – often my favourite ones at a lovely, quiet time of day. A chance to get some good old fresh air and exercise, and an attempt to forget the nonsensical-but-at-the-time-so-important decisions and politics of the working day. I finish work quite late – around 6pm – so I can make a quick dash home to change and then enjoy an hour’s uninterrupted wind down to digest and recharge. Haven’t done this for ages so the new light spring evenings are a real treat.
Sometimes I feel very old fashioned about the way I love to mark the seasons. I feel like we forget the year’s natural calendar in a way that our quite recent ancestors could not. Unless we’re farmers, or fishermen, there are few walks of life left into which the seasons intrude, and so we don’t feel the impact as much. We want everything all the time. Shops don’t shut on Good Friday – and even now sell on Easter Sunday. We don’t want to wait for anything, and so having what used to be seasonal produce available all year round has blurred the margins.
Well I’ll keep looking out for the first snowdrops and the ‘real’ asparagus. And soon I’ll get me flip flops out 🙂