- March 20, 2017
Every year as winter comes around I, along with the rest of the world, slowly slip into my tried and tested winter habits. I never leave the house without being stuffed into just more layers than necessary, being outside after 4pm is a no-no, and I spend as much time as possible buried under blankets and duvets with the heater on max.
Perhaps it comes from being a November baby, or more likely because I’m someone who enjoys the indoor laziness that bad weather enables, because every year I greet the oncoming winter with fondness. I wave goodbye to the inescapable sweat patches of summer and the relentless social obligation to be outside soaking up every ray of sun whenever it is sunny, and gladly usher in the next six months of guilt-free hibernation.
But just like every proper Brit my seasonal attitude is fickle and capricious, and about as predictable as the English weather itself. In the heart of winter I find myself bundled up like a Michelin Man lookalike, pressed into the corner of a bus stop trying to avoid the wind and the rain, and longingly trying to pick out where the sun would be in the oppressive ceiling of black and grey sky.
Pressed into the corner of a bus stop, longingly trying to pick out where the sun would be
And sure as the sun rises, when summer comes around all I can think about is the toasty feeling of a heated room and being tucked up indoors as rain drums on the window outside. So where is the satisfaction to be found between such polarising opposites? Perhaps somewhere I’ve never thought to look before. Perhaps between them.
Spring is springing. Everywhere I look I am reminded of how beautiful this transitional season is. Colour is slowly leaking back into the world; daffodils are popping up in their bunches, blossoms are beginning their stretch over bare branches, and cautious little blooms like snowdrops and bluebells are poking their heads above ground to see if the coast is clear.
Before the mad rush of summer, and just after the slow burn of winter, tucked comfortably between the two are the calm contented days of spring. Not too hot, not too cold, slowly waking up from its winter slumber with dewey eyed buds, I’m starting to think that this seasonal interim is in fact the main event.