Two weeks ago, we still had several inches of snow on the ground; within a day or two, it would mostly all be gone. Today, I look out my window and the snow has gone, the skies are blue with only the occasional cloud, the sun is shining, birds are chirping and spring flowers are beginning to burst into life
It’s not especially warm; it is, after all, the west of Scotland, in February but there is almost no wind and, compared to the minus figures we were enduring just over a week ago, 10oc feels positively balmy.
So, at lunchtime, I stripped off and walked round the garden, feeling the grass under my feet, finding the sunniest spot and just stood there for several minutes for no other reason other than the fact I could.
What little wind there was made the short hairs on my arms stand on end, but it felt good; good to feel the first feeble warmth of the pre-spring sunshine on my skin, good to just be part of that rebirth, that coming back to life after long, cold months of darkness and cold.
A few minutes was all I could manage, but it was all that I needed; it was all that I required to feel as if I had started to emerge from my winter cocoon to face the promise of longer, warmer days.
I can’t lie, I was glad to get back indoors and put my clothes back on; sipping from a hot mug of coffee, but my spirit was still out there, naked and free, acknowledging my part in the world.
We all need those moments; those times where we just shift phase and exist; a few quite seconds to be free of our burdens and cares. Returning to my desk, nothing has really changed; my workload is still what it was before I stopped for lunch, I am still the same person I was, and the world is largely no different from how it was half an hour ago. And yet those few moments of peace, those few moments of standing naked at the end of the garden, listening to the blackbirds and feeling a gentle warmth on my face have filled me with a promise of what will be.
In spring, we brush off the mantle of winter and are reborn.