Anticipating Spring

As soon as Christmas is over, I wait impatiently, anticipating the tiniest glimmer of colour amongst the stubborn brown-grey brushstrokes of winter’s all-encompassing palette, the first hint of milder temperatures, the first wash of post-4pm sunlight across the living room floor.

First, daffodils cautiously unfold from the frost-speckled ground, huddled together like penguins against the last cold wisps of wind. They mark a change. Reminding us that nature waits for no one; it works on its own special time.

Slowly, reluctantly, incrementally, painfully, winter relinquishes its stiff-fingered grip, surrendering to the unavoidable progression of increasingly longer days, melting as the sun’s shadows creep past 5pm now, pushing us onwards. The grey mist disappears. Look up – candyfloss blossom gently tickles the blue sky.

The sun regains its warming glow, gently caressing our faces once again, illuminating the baby hairs we forgot we had; spring is a time for things to be born and reborn. Long-forgotten birdsong re-emerges from the branches of the spindly trees. Suddenly, the air begins to smell green, singing with the scent of budding botanics. We open the windows and let the year’s first tunnels of fresh air into our homes.

We pause, take a breath, drop our shoulders as our bodies realise that they no longer have to constantly be on the defence. We soften. We watch as growth becomes possible again.