There has always been one mystery that has baffled me. When people talk about seasons, they talk about four.
Summer, autumn, winter, spring.
Everyone knows this, it’s kindergarten stuff. But often, I find myself wondering, why four? why not three? Because spring just doesn’t seem to be there. There is winter. You feel it going. Its going, going, going, Gone. And you wake up one day covered in sweat. And you think to yourself, was I in coma, how did I skip spring and jumped from winter to summer.
Where did spring go?
This year, I planned it all out. I actually noted the day winter turned to spring.
March 6
I didn’t wake up with a blanket on top of me. Clear sign that winter was gone. But it rained the next day and winter was back. Another 3 days of blissful cold. Officially, winter was done and gone on the unfortunate day of March 9.
March 10
I tried to actually feel the spring. Stupid as it may seem, I tried it. And believe it or not, I felt it. Maybe it was something in the breeze or just the smell but I actually felt it. All the signs were there, once I started looking.The grass was greener than ever and the wind more friendly than it had been for weeks.
March 11 – 19
Spring was there, I could sense it. These were the glory days of the season. It only showed in the flowers and the greenery. The breeze was great, not too hot, not too cold, just right. But the there was still a hint of sweat whenever there was outdoor work involved. Something I had not experienced for quite some time, and did not miss at all.
March 20
I tried to feel it, I really did. Nothing. It was finished. Done. Not a single damn sign that spring was still around, except perhaps the flowers, but what good does that do to anybody when you know that the heat is settling down like a fat kid for a particularly long meal.
So, concluding, its safe to say that spring is a season that lasts 10 days, give or take. Poets and writers find inspiration in this season. Though, I can’t imagine how. One way would be to get it on recording and watch it over and over again to find something meaningful and heartfelt. It’s bound to be more successful than having half a month to work with the entire year. But that’s just me.
Diary Without Pages 