Spring has sprung

It's been six years since I saw seasons, give or take the odd autumnal tree in Zimbabwe last May. So it's been rather nice to watch the changing of the seasons. From the heavy frosts those icy sunny days in late December to the new year snows, we shot through snowdrops and crocuses towards spring. Daffodils and lambs cavorting on the ever-greener hillsides, blossoms fragrantly came and went with breathtaking transience, leaving us with a Scottish summer. At six or seven o'clock I feel slightly cheated by the lack of darkness, remembering fondly the cold damp early nights of January, but then by nine or ten o'clock I look out and see the daylight still slowly fading and feel quite uplifted, chuffed. And then, the sky a rich deepening blue, the evenings seem quite magical and I like to walk along the river. Baby rabbits hop hopelessly away into the undergrowth, ducks take their ducklings for a swim as the first few stars begin to show and the laughter wafts across from the terrace of the pub. Summer evenings, exactly how we'd like to remember them, just as the winter pulled out enough perfect days to maintain a romantic vision and fortify selective memory.

I used to say that if I'd missed anything while in Malaysia, it would have been the seasons. I wouldn't say I actively did, but it's certainly been good to see them again.