The hedgerow at the bottom of our garden has in the last week unfurled its beautiful green leaves. Suddenly, almost overnight, the branches are clothed in a thick velvet fabric of such density and verdancy, just as they were those twelve (!) years ago that we bought the house. I look back at those years and that person I was then; I daresay I wouldn’t recognise her at all, in her naivete and youthful exuberance. I daresay she wouldn’t recognise me, either, though I know she’d love the life I’m trying to create for our family.
Spring is the happiest time of year. I used to like winter a lot, but now for me no other season is as wonderful or magical as spring. As lovely as autumn is, it is tinged with a sorrow at losing the lovely days of spring and summer and succumbing to the indoors for a few months. Spring on the other hand beckons you out, holds your hand, wafts sweet scents of newly cut grass and may blossom on the breeze. It has the season’s first strawberries and birds nest-building and long, long, long overdue sun.
Today was one of those dreamy spring days. It was warm, a whopping 14C and almost entirely windless. We had a late-for-us start followed by me making pancakes for everyone, with extra blueberries for Baby VP whose idea of the perfect meal is a blueberry (or twenty).
Mr VP has started the long, arduous task of DIY – painting the dining room and the bathroom amongst other things – so while he got on with that, I took Baby VP out and we went to the beach for a walk. It was so busy there that we actually struggled to find parking – something that hardly ever happens at this particular beach, so you could tell the weather was exceptionally nice. The ice-cream van had a line ten deep for oysters and 99s and Zaps. We walked and she and I and talked about the things we could see; why the water looked so blue and about the people, the birds and the sand.
Spring is a hopeful season. I love it and can’t wait to get out for some more walks and get to see some more places.