Seasons

Written on 21 June 2019

It's never neat. It's never tidy. Hell, do we want it to be?

The seasons are arbitrary, dictating only a change in temperature, a tilt of the earth, and yet we set so much hope on the changing of the seasons. Autumn is melancholic. Winter is miserable and long. Spring is hope and Summer is joy.

But it's never neat.

And now the sun is out, the warmth is palpable, the nights are long and the birdsong is overwhelmingly beautiful. But the joy remains absent.

But it won't always be.

And just like the seasons, we'll all be swept up in the fervour of joy, the misery of pain and loss, the melancholy of loneliness and isolation and the hope of a better future.

And just like the seasons these feelings are unpredictable. They can last days, weeks months. A blink of an eye. A look. A touch. A word. But we all go through it. And we'll go through it again. And again. And again.

So, no, it's not neat and tidy. But would we want it to be?