I try and be positive about the winter, really I do, but I usually feel a bit crap in January and February, everyone around me is coughing, and the weather is horrible. The nights are too long, wood fires burn my throat, and I lose a glove every time I go out.
All my friends seem to have lost an elderly relative, the news (Brexit) is terrible, and it is hard to move my arms as I have so many layers on. Did I say I try and be positive? Well, I make an effort not to moan ALL the time, even though I feel like it.
So thank f*ck it’s spring! Some may say that spring does not start until after the equinox on 21 March, but I’m with those who say spring starts on 1 March. Today! Last year, the Beast from the East decided to ruin everything in March, but fingers crossed, this year, new-born lambs can gambol unfettered around lush, green fields and my cats can bask in sunshine on the shed roof, rather than constantly demand my warm lap whilst I am trying to work.
So I am a fan of this season. More than a fan, just when I think I will have to emigrate, that I can’t take any more, there is a glorious, mild, sunny day and everything looks so much brighter. Bunches of daffodils spread around the house (in vases, my house isn’t quite dirty enough to cultivate them spontaneously). Daffodils, of course bring us to that ultimate celebration of spring, William Wordsworth’s poem with its crowd, its host of golden daffodils.
Another fabulous poem celebrating the season is by Billy Collins, called Today, I urge you to read the whole thing, but here is a taste:
If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb…
And I have to end on one of my favourite songs of all time by Simon and Garfunkel, in anticipation of next month and those that lead up to the even more glorious summer, April Come She Will.
The joys of spring. I’m full of them. Are you?