First Days of Spring

Every season is my favourite at some point in the year. I always find that with the turning of the seasons comes a change that's not unwelcome. There's something to love about every season, but I often tire of them after a while and search for signs of the next season to come. 

There's something special about springtime that I think marks it out as my absolute favourite season. Spring is the time of the year that both of my children arrived into the world. It is a time for new life, fresh buds and leaves emerging on the once bare branches of trees, which later festoon the streets with colourful sweet-smelling blossom. This aroma combines with the earthy scent of cows, which I don't find unpleasant at all but a vast improvement on the overpowering diesel fumes that we were used to in our previous urban dwelling. 

When we walk along the quiet country roads that run along the edge of the village the surrounding fields are dotted with white and the air is alive with the bleats of spring lambs. The heady scent of the green fields combined with the bluest skies is enough to lift my spirits, even when for days on end the wind blows in gusts strong enough to hinder our mobility, and the fine rain sends chills through us.

The winter has been a mild one, but the arrival of spring as usual has been staggered, with an unexpected heatwave in February, before further snow showers into March. But I find the post February snow is limited in its capacity and never lasts long. Even when it settles it quickly melts when the snow showers dwindle into rain. I love the cosiness that comes with the colder months, but this is nothing compared with the warmth and hope that spring brings, along with the strong reminder that we survived another winter.

A Long Year

2018 started dismally for me. Normally I begin the New Year feeling positive and energised, but this time I set myself quite ambitious targets that quickly unravelled. I had high hopes to finish writing my book, and realised early into the year that finding the time, inspiration and energy was never going to happen, while simultaneously raising a family and trying to bring some order to our project house. At the end of March I broke with the project I had been working on for five years, and apart from dabbling with a couple of new ideas have written very little all year.

 

2018 began with a long winter, although the first days of spring came early in February, giving us false hope. The weather wasn't set to change until several weeks later. At the beginning of March we made a sizeable snowman, though one day at the end of the month, the children ate their dinner outside in their coats. 

Once we were into April the winter was quickly forgotten, and our spirits thawed. In June we spent a week exploring the Isle of Bute, and could easily have left our coats and jumpers at home for we had no need of them. Having long dreamed of visiting the Scottish islands it was a delight to take in the first and truly begin our adventure. 

The soaring temperatures seemed to affect the wildlife. We saw notices on Facebook about what to do in the event of spotting a hedgehog in broad daylight and never thought we would have the need to aid one of the prickly species, until late afternoon, one day in early July when Sewel spotted a young hedgehog wandering in our garden. We gave it water and brought it inside, keeping it warm as we had been advised, until it could be collected by the SSPCA. 

We got away for a few weeks at the end of July, and into August, taking our annual tour down South to visit Sewel's family in the East, and then my family in the South-West. We returned for the start of the school term, and Moth returned to nursery for his pre-school year. Watching my little two grow throughout the year is always a highlight. The Autumn was quiet, our stream of visitors in the spring, followed by our travels in the summer, now over. We concentrated our energies on household projects and finally completed our living room in time for Christmas. 

Although I haven't updated my blogs much I started writing in my diary again after a long absence, and I've found a great joy in capturing day to day moments forever in words. And being involved with a monthly book group has meant I've read plenty: 46 books in total, which for me is an achievement, at least when compared with recent years. I believe my break from my writing project was long overdue, but I hope it is something I will fall back into in the coming year, along with candle-making, blogging, and reading, which goes without saying!

Light and Wonder

Christmas here is blustery and wet, our walls still await replastering and the clutter of family life tends to spill over. But nothing can spoil the anticipation and excitement that fill the air like magic.

We welcome again the saviour of the world, retelling the story of the first Christmas, and try to pass on the good news.

Christmas brings hope and joy, light and wonder into our homes and hearts. This, our first Christmas in Scotland and the first to ourselves, will be one to remember.

A Blogger's Nostalgia

You should know by now that this is the season that holds the most nostalgia for me. This is the time that I find myself thinking of the friends long absent, but not yet forgotten. And the people standing on the edge of my memory. One day they will slip beyond, but for now they hold on, and I find myself thinking of them from time to time. 

I can't help but remember fondly the early years of blogging. How different it was back then. There were so many bloggers that captivated me with their words, and although I never had many readers, there was a real community spirit to be found amongst those who came my way. I found myself involved with a travelling notebook, and even attended a virtual ball. I can't tell you how much those times meant to me.

Nowadays, blogs seem to be more focused on commercialisation. I appreciate the need to monetise when the opportunity is available, but product reviews and guest posts make for dull reading. Despite my expansive reading list, it's not often that I read on. All of my old blogging friends have moved on, their original blogs abandoned, much like my own, but not quite forgotten.

There is one friend who remains with me, a friend who was there from the beginning.Her blog is the only one that I read without fail, and she is the sole reader of mine. And if her eyes are the only ones that read these words of mine, then I couldn't be more glad. If I don't blog for myself, then I blog for her.

Walk Out to Winter

"It's cold enough for snow," I heard a woman utter as we walked home from church earlier that day. The snow hasn't come yet. I wonder when it will. I don't relish the prospect of driving in it, but that doesn't lessen the excitement I feel at the thought of a proper snowfall soon.

We walk out to winter, treading grit into the pavement with each footstep. Moth grinds it beneath his feet, sliding with every step. He is unnerved by the thin sheet of ice that has formed across the surface of the puddles. He wasn't expecting them to break when he jumped in them. 

I woke one night to a commotion outside my bedroom window, and looked out to see festive lights had been fastened to the lamposts. Shortly afterwards, a huge Christmas tree took centre stage in the community garden, much to the delight of the children. Next weekend we will serenade the streets with carols and watch the neighbourhood glow with festive illuminations.