In the backyard of the house of my flat there is a tree. I‘m not sure what kind of tree it is, but every beginning of spring the whole place is filled with the smell of its blossoms. Winter is finally over.
Don‘t get me wrong. I love winter for what it is. With its frostiness and the cosiness inside a warm flat smelling of baking and candles. Being the season for tea, warm socks and books and Christmas, of course. But I am quite happy to live in a place where seasons are changing. Every season has its own magic. In spring you value the fact of just not freezing anymore. Peoples‘ necks are finally getting longer, shoulders relax and the body slides back into its native position. My thoughts are getting smoother, my view on everything wider and my arms open up to second position. Even my hayfever weirdly feels like a liberation from the captivity of closed rooms winter holds us in once the Christmas period is over. Not to mention some pretty practical advantages the warmer season comes with, like less laundry and fewer winter jackets on the coat racks, as well as the growing motivation to get rid of some old stuff and make space for new stuff or yourself.
But sometimes spring comes stuttering. Like a motor that won‘t start running. A few sunny and warm days gave us an advance on the coming summer. But we live on a credit and every wintery interlude makes me fear that the instalments might be expended before summer has even started and it might be over before it has begun. Too easily the body is reminded of freezing and tense postures once cold wind is emerging. Too big the temptation to switch on the heating again, get out thick bed linen once more and just stay inside your cosy home if you do not have to be anywhere. No need to put away winter jackets and coats. You might need them the day after tomorrow because the weather forecast could not promise more than one or two warm days.
Alone the shops appear unimpressed. They mock the climatical reality of German spring by displaying summery festival outfits and rhinestoned birkenstocks and call up our longing for warm days beyond 25 celsius. Today we‘re gonna get 21. Let‘s see how much space we can make!
gruß, heike.
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