I have an assignment. My task is to write about spring. Paralysed by writer’s block, I ask my son what he thinks about spring. “Hmmm …” he ponders, rubbing his chin as all good thinkers do. “It makes me want to lie in the middle of the garden on the grass. It feels nice, all warm and sunny on top of my eyes”. Wow. Me too.
But what is it about spring that makes us come over all misty-eyed and poetic? Perhaps it’s the gloomy feeling that winter will never end – and then suddenly it does – that inspires us. Spring is gentle, with its delicate blossom buds, its soft baby leaves and weak rays of sunshine trying feebly to warm us up; Winter is monstrous, with its icy grip and roaring wind, assaulting us with freezing sleet under a blanket of darkness. And yet spring is victorious every time! David slays Goliath, in a seasonal manner of speaking.