My definition of spring is the first day after winter when the warmth in the air accompanied with the freshness of its brisk scent arrives. The gloriously subtle aroma introducing new life for the year ahead outside. It won't last - it never does. A solid day of rain and greyness removes the memory of the first spring day; it just does, it always does. You only ever realise the following year when the invitation is delivered once again and you kick yourself for forgetting so soon.
I do love it though. I imagine the woodlands waking up; the winter aches of stiffness stretched into life enjoying a spring day - just like I am. I wonder if trees moan about the weather? It should be the time of year you get a bounce in your step, finally shake off the cold induced frigidity of dark nights and introduce an alternative to spending your limited daylight in a room. Be it a classroom, an office, a kitchen or, if winter really gets to you, hospital or the bar.The architecture that supports our hibernation limits us most while keeping us company for its duration.
Dom called me from his pocket today, weirdly I listened. I still question mark whether or not it was genuine. Foolishly I had asked him earlier if there was any possibility of our future being shared. there was no answer until his pocket called me. He was at work, he works in the local emergency services dept. Hearing him work makes me feel proud of him; there is a palpable sense of pride in what he does, almost as unmistakably as mush as he adores the authoritative tones instructing those around him to follow his lead. The call totalled 11 minutes, almost quarter of an hour servicing the deserving poor and their problems.
Jesus, it was dull.
I wonder though, does listening to the person you are waiting for an answer from make you the deserving poor with a problem pleading for help when no conversation takes place?
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