For many of us, winter is blooming into spring, or fall hardening into winter. Which season do I most look forward to?
Not for me is the sweltering and parching heat of summer, with two-and-a-half months of with flies, sticky nights, and hayfever to drive me to seek transitory relief with ice cubes, lots of juice, ice cream, baking soda, and Visine.
Nor is it the bitter cold fingers of winter that seem to reach into every nook and cranny that is not covered, a time of shorter days, less sunshine, and monochromatic hues, that makes me reluctant to emerge from under the covers. Fall is a sweet but all-too-short display of crisp red, orange, yellow and green leaves, a sign of impending decay.
It is spring, when Mother Nature’s foliage buds, and puts forth successively more colourful flowers, that I look forward to. Spring acts upon a primeval promise of renewal; it is a time of temperate climes, of alternating days of wet and warm. The pollen does not yet fly with great intensity. The cherry blossoms flower first, and they are sights for sore eyes that may have seen and tired of many months of white and black and grey. There is a lightness to my step, an expectancy that has been lifted from my shoulders, as if I have been waiting to exhale.
- Daily Prompt: Turn, Turn, Turn (dailypost.wordpress.com)