Having recently returned to
New Zealand, for a short
stay, I find myself surrounded by the signs of autumn and yearning, just a
little, for the magic of the spring I left behind in the English . county of Cheshire
There, after living through my first British winter in more than thirty years, I was enraptured by the coming of spring. Though the charm and cheerfulness of the yellow wildflowers blossoming everywhere was heart-warming, it was the greening of the countryside that I found most uplifting. Now, I feel I understand more clearly why ancient civilisations and more primitive cultures feared the long, dark days of winter, and celebrated so exuberantly the coming of Spring.
Each day as I walked in the various woodlands near my home, I became more and more aware of the land reawakening from its winter slumber. With buds bursting and green leaflets glinting in the sunlight, the signs of the revival and rebirth of the trees were all around. For me, the fresh, clean perfection of young leaves quivering in the slightest breeze is the very essence of spring.