Bookmark #667

Winter is over already, and I did not realise it until the evening today when before going out, I picked my scarf up and as I wound it around my neck while exiting the apartment, I felt this complete lack of necessity for it, and it was then that I really looked at the calendar with my eyes wide open. It occurred to me it was February already. The blame is only partly mine to share—when things do not change much, and when you cannot tell your days apart, things tend to get muddled and confusing. The sky has not changed for days. As much as I want it to, no forecasts suggest rain. It will be the same life, filled with similar days, peppered with the occasional change for some time until spring arrives.

Yes, when spring arrives, the city will birth anew. The flowers will bloom in unison any minute now, and there will be colour. No need to check your calendar when March marches on, for the world tells you about itself eagerly. In life, you need something to look forward to. I have noticed that some of us, some like me, who are happy with inconsequential events such as the changing of seasons, or the familiar face of a friend, only look forward to them, the tiny bits which continually tell you the days are still rolling, that time is still passing you by. Others often make drastic decisions, such as moving to a new city or getting married to strangers, if things become monotonous.

For me, the next month is enough to imagine, and I cannot wait to look around like a silly child and talk about the yellow showers of amaltas trees or the patches of daisies flowering about here and there all day long. I can already see it—the whole gamut of colour the world offers.

With spring comes a different comfort, which is the opposite of what we get in winter. In winter, the comfort says: sit inside and stay warm, for the world tends to get cold sometimes. But spring tells us: come out, come out and play. You belong; you belong amidst all this colour. Yes, you are needed; you, too, fill a space when you glow brightly. A part of the picture remains bland until you stand in it.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here