Tag Archives: spring

London Musings Vol. II: If you’re S.A.D. and you know it, get up off your bum and get outdoors.

The weather in London has been, frankly, lovely.  In fact, I’m certain that anybody who lives here would stick their tongues out at us, since the past summer was by all accounts beyond tragic.  Still, in spite of the fact that the sun has made at least a fleeting appearance on virtually every day since we arrived, there are only too many reminders that summer is making its way steadily toward the exit, sheepishly in these parts, perhaps all too aware of its less-than-impressive performance this year.

I love the sun.  Lovelovelove it.  I think I knew I had Seasonal Affective Disorder before the seasons ever had the chance to affect me in a negative way.  Barefoot has always been my fashion statement.  I never feel more radiant than when my hair is streaked with blonde and my shoulders are peeling just a little from forgetting to put on sunscreen a couple of days ago (I’m getting better).  When the days are longer and hotter, I feel solidly more optimistic about all of it.  Future, present and past just all seem more the way they should when one can go outdoors after dark in nothing more than flipflops, shorts and a tanktop.

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Out with the old…

Today we went for a walk…Sunday afternoon, and the sun was working its way out from behind the clouds.  The trees are fully in bloom here, bursting with little pink, white, and yellow flowers, while the willows sway more heavily with their distinctively chartreuse foliage.  The fragility of spring is extraordinary; it is its freshness, its newness that makes it sing for us – the promise that it cannot stay.

But spring has been strange this year.

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Springing Forward

There comes a point – some years more toward the beginning of the winter and the end of fall, others not until a particularly grey and cold February – when I forget that winter can’t last forever.  I forget that the sun won’t always go down at 4:30, that I’ll soon sweat when I go out for a run, and I won’t ache for every sliver of sunlight I can steal.  These aren’t conscious, logical thoughts, but I know they’re real because without fail, even with the reminders that precede it – flowers in bloom, sunnier days, sweatier jogs – I am almost shocked when we “spring forward” an hour.

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