to the park

When you wake up on an early day in March, open the back door to let the dog out for his morning constitutional, and are greeted not by a prickly blast of icy wind, but a warm waft of earth-smelling, sun-drenched air- your heart stops for a second. Your eyes squint against the sun in disbelief, and then close in sweet relief. Your mouth drops open a little, as if you are on your knees receiving the sacred sacrament. You breathe in, your lungs hesitant, not quite believing what they're feeling, and then when you realize it's real they burst open like you've pulled the rip cord on an inflatable life raft and suck in the deepest breath you've taken since October.
We know it's coming every year, the Change of Seasons. Winter to Spring. It's one of the greatest blessings we're given in this short, cyclical life- to have the sweet warmth and life of Summer taken away from us so we can celebrate its return and rebirth six months later.
I am an Autumn girl at heart; October is my absolute favourite time of the year. But Spring takes a close second, and I think there's good reason that most people I know love these two seasons the most. They are the seasons of relief and change; they signal new and exciting things to come. Snow after a long spell of heat, and life after a long spell of cold and sleep.
So even though October is a long way off, I am jumping out of my socks with joy at the unseasonably early heralding of Spring this morning. Suddenly all my plans of errands and chores for the day are completely unimportant. We're going to the park.