Do you know that time of year, when the first warm strains of hope are humming on the air and the filtered sunlight flicks with dust and matter? When we begin to throw off the layers of winter and feel again the sensuous delight of our warm skin against skin?
The glide of thigh against thigh, the movement of bare toes against bare calf, the gentle ripple of hair against naked shoulders.
A whisper of hope comes in on warm zephyrs reminding us of the fun, the outdoors, the sigh of pleasure that is an approaching summer.
Everything blooms, and colour infuses our moods and days with smiles and scents.
The earth warms and is rich and inviting, the cat wants to flatten her belly to the soil and leech the warmth that is offered up. I’m tempted to join her, laying my palm flat on the garden bed, feeling the soft loam and sensing that beneath my hand all is abuzz with movement and action, as seeds split to send shoots fighting up toward the golden light high above, as tiny insects and worms burrow soundlessly, blindly in the dark, frantic with their tasks.
I hear the gentle of hum of nature as it shakes off its winter slumber and stretches into action again.
I realise I’m relieved, almost as if I’d been holding my breath ever so slightly while the world hibernated and slowed, worried that maybe this time it might not all come back, the promise may not be answered.