Blue Skies

Blue Skiesⁱ

I hate spring.

Actually it's beautiful. I know that. Crocuses are reaching for the sun and buds are starting to appear on the trees. Although winter is not completely gone, and some cold days remain, warm winds are starting to find their way by our faces, and the last vestiges of snow are disappearing. Gentle rains are starting to fall which aren't oppressive but rather welcome as relief from what we've been suffering. And in between the showers there are clear blue skies and, soon, the yellow-green leavesⁱⁱ that signal the rich green that is to follow.ⁱⁱⁱ

As the days lengthen the birds are returning and now they are singing. Some of them seem a little bulky, and it seems clear that a new generation will be appearing soon. That's the hallmark of the season. It's not just the prerogative of young men, nor their fancy – spring fever affects all of us, man and animal alike,^iv and we're all affected by the climate of rebirth.

But I hate spring.

I love winter. Not so much the weather, which I find to be more than I can bear.^v And certainly not the sentence of house arrest brought on by the short days. Cabin fever is a real ailment, and I suffer from it as much as others. The season is cold and dark, and even the house seems cold. Tempers are on edge because of the confinement. No one wants to go out, but no one wants to have to stay in either.

But I love winter for one important reason. It holds the promise of spring. The days are starting to get longer and there is hope and anticipation about. It will all end soon, but not a moment too soon.

And then it actually ends. Spring comes. And the moment is too soon. The time for which we've all been waiting – the promise we prayed would be kept – has come, and there is a letdown. Soon, with the coming of summer, the trees will be full and all we'll have ahead of us is the deterioration of nature heralding winter. Sure, there will be a bright and clear autumn, but however glorious it may be, it will carry with it the inevitability of the coming season. I love winter, but only because of the expectations it brings. Otherwise I hate the season and I hate anticipating it.

And so when spring comes, as warm and welcome as it may be, we have lost the chance to yearn; we can no longer wait for it, with all the excitement that comes with anticipation. It will be over soon, at least until next year – but who can think that far ahead.

Next episode: "The Need To Know" – Bull from the bears.

i     With apologies to Irving Berlin.

ii    I like the willows best.

iii    All my perceptions assume the Northern Hemisphere, but I also know that my melancholy would be just as severe – though offset by six months – if I lived in the Southern Hemisphere.

iv    Yes. I'm aware that we're animals. But the cliché expresses the idea so well.

v    When I was younger, and better able to tolerate the cold, it wasn't so bad; when shoveling snow wasn't the ordeal it is now, I gloried in the change of seasons and winter was a big part of it. And when playing, or, later, playing with my children and making snow angels, it was almost enjoyable.