Only today someone asked my age, and I replied :- 283 seasons, as that is how I prefer to think of my life, in seasons. Far nicer than saying, " 71 next birthday. "
For me the Spring heralds the start of a new beginning. The budding of the many beautiful trees and hedgerows that populate my local area. The foraging of Magpies for material to refurbish last years nest, or even to build a new one, complete with roof.!!
The little children, beginning to cast off their heavy Winter clothing, and to wearing more comfortable clothes,the better to play in at break-time.
The promise of sunshine and warmth, and longer, lighter days. Time to spend in the garden, just enjoying the things that surround me.
The Summer brings even greater joys for all, even the noisy builders, who now have the opportunity to find work which has eluded them in the colder, darker months.
The buzz of the lawn-mowers trying to keep abreast of the ever-increasing growth that the sunshine brings to the grass, and now, the trees bursting into full bloom to afford welcome shade on the hotter days.
Children in light Summer clothing, expending their energies cycling, running and generally enjoying all that Summer really means. The days are long and wonderful.
September brings with it the Autumn. A time for the leaves to turn to a blaze of gold, and for folk to start talking about Xmas and all the problems that accompany it.
A time for the heavier clothing to be brought forward for duty once again, and for the nights to start darkening.The temperature begins to slowly fall, and the days seem so much longer that they did in Summertime.
Eventually Winter is upon us once more, and the trees, now bereft of their leaves,
have only a mantel of snow to look forward to. But don’t they look majestic when they are so covered, and just to stand and admire their beauty in the stillness that usually follows a heavy fall of snow, is a fantastic experience.
The children, now bedecked in their warm anoraks, wellington boots , scarves and gloves are a picture unto themselves, with their little red noses and cheeks peeking out of their anorak hoods. Now restricted to their warm classrooms they must wait, as we all must, for the coming of the next Spring.
So, the next time someone asks you your age, then just tell them, lest they look at you as though you are a some kind of a fool, as many do me. I don’t really give a damn, I’m too old to care.