As winter moves into spring we are tantalised with the promise of a seasons growth while in fact the lingering taste of a winter that has lost its welcome fills the senses. Cold winds from the east temper the joys of longer days and bright sunlight – there is little immediately evident in the landscape apart from a deepening sense of decomposition as the last year’s foliage disappears into a soupy morass.
This season ends in a stormy wash. The earth’s surface rendered into a purifying mud bath, a final cleansing of body and soul as the tempest scoured landscape prepares for a new cycle. Trees have been thinned and the paths are waterlogged; allowing the piercing gaze of the sun to expose and echo each tiny transition.
A new door opens – although outside lies the heart of winter – a raw austere land where each limb stands absolutely bared and stripped of foliage. Life’s passage is now frozen – reduced to the stirring of puddles, ice and freezing fog. Hope lies in anticipation; belief that some new deity of nature will manifest itself.
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