At last, the long awaited hint of spring sunshine is here. I
don’t care that it shows up how much my windows need cleaning or draws
attention to dusty surfaces, I’m happy to have daylight into the early evening
and I don’t mind the sacrifice of an hour’s sleep to get it. Spring. I can wake
up, renewed as I begin to feel some energy.
A few years ago, I
recognised that I develop some symptoms of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)
from November to March / April. It varies in severity, but nothing
unmanageable, so far. Usually it is just the desire to hibernate brought about
by fatigue and generally feeling a bit fed up. The change of scenery offered by
a couple of breaks in Dumfries & Galloway works wonders and on this
occasion, took my mind off other health issues that are being investigated. The
SAD is lifting now.
There is cheerful new growth in the garden as plants come
back to life. Spring flowers have been bursting through the borders and filling
my patio pots with bright colours. I’m particularly proud of a tub of orangey
tulips. It all gives a feeling of well-being after months of darkness.
Spring cleaning and sorting out is on the agenda. I’m aiming
for retirement and I want to organise belongings in preparation for a possible
future move. It will be a slow, meticulous process because I’m easily
distracted and have to look at everything. I spent ages this afternoon going
through personal memorabilia and deciding what to keep. It was good, singing
along to Jack Savoretti and reading old newspaper cuttings, but it didn’t
really make much of an impression on the task. There’s no rush, luckily.
Tomorrow, if I feel like it, I might attempt to clean some windows and dust
round. Oh and there’s a couple of cobwebs that must have been manufactured
during last night and need sweeping away before one grandson in particular goes
on a spider hunt.
The poem I’ve chosen is Home Thoughts from Abroad by Robert
Browning. It is one of my favourites and I’ve probably featured it before but
it’s worth another airing. I’m so fortunate that my secondary education
included poetry and learning whole poems off by heart, this is one such poem. It's a discipline that seems
to be missing now. I had wonderful, enthusiastic English teachers that
introduced a world of poetry and literature of which I’m still firmly placed in.
Home Thoughts
From Abroad
Oh, to be in
England
Now that
April's there,
And whoever
wakes in England
Sees, some
morning, unaware,
That the lowest
boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the
elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the
chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!
And after
April, when May follows,
And the
whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my
blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the
field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and
dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That's the wise
thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should
think he never could recapture
The first fine
careless rapture!
And though the
fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay
when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups,
the little children's dower
—Far brighter
than this gaudy melon-flower!
Robert
Browning 1812 - 1889
Thanks for reading, Pam x
