Transition

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I'd like to say Spring is here but it seems to be two steps forward, one back at the moment as we still haven't shaken off those depressing grey skies completely and had a little snow again only on Friday. At least there have been some brighter hours (rather than days) and I have finally been getting into the garden to move forward with the big tidy up that weather conditions conspired to impede last year.

Now, with all the winter rain the earth is turning easily and I have planted garlic whilst the temperatures are still low as well as moving rhubarb crowns. Indoors, I've started to sow seeds. Mainly, however, I just enjoy wandering amongst the flower beds, admiring the bulbs that are beginning to bloom. It even looks as though the chilli powder might have worked its magic, although I won't know for certain until tulip time is here.

As winter turns to spring, it is always a magical time of the year, associated as it is with birth and new beginnings. Perhaps that's why I always seem to end up with a host of annual check ups in the month of March as well as the ritual decluttering and cleaning sessions.

Not such a new birth, but I also celebrated my birthday yesterday. We neglected garden and home for a trip out to Raby Castle for a wander and lunch. It's not too far from our doorstep but I confess I'd never entered the grounds since spending a week there under canvas back in 1973 for an International Girl Guide Camp. I'm not sure if it was the realisation that 53 years has passed or if I am undergoing a serious period of evolution but, and despite being constantly told that age is just a number, I suddenly feel a bit too grown up.

Is it because life seems to be a series of continuing grey days or rather because humanity could be looking over a dangerous precipice? I guess regime change is regarded as an ultimate transition, no matter the season. It's not like metamorphosing into retirement though, is it?


 

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