Spring is a funny thing. You wait all winter for the longer evenings, for the glimmer of sunlight that lengthens the days, for the signs and symbols that there is light and life beyond 3pm, for the chance to venture out without layers upon layers of woollen rigmarole…
I recall being sent to bed on a school night while the daylight remained strong, listening to the shrieks and delighted chattering of others who still enjoyed the sunshine. I recall vowing that when I was a ‘grownup’ I would savour those evenings and make sure that I would not waste the long days.
Now, though, the days seem to go on too long. The early nights that I yearn for are blighted by the bright light in our south-facing bedroom. The teething Tilly who moans and shrieks by day sleeps fitfully at night and her parents are left as broken shells who cannot speak, let alone frolick and play in the sunshine,. The 6pm watershed that marks the moment that the bottle of wine can be opened is, all too often, long in coming and bitter when it does arrive.
I am feeling blue.
And today, the memory of a beautiful weekend walk in the wooods is succeeding in keeping me a slightly brighter lavender blue rather than a bluey-grey.