Spring’s melancholy

April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain… Every year, I feel something sad in spring’s air. I can image it is somewhat like the front land felt, stirring again after shells and trenches and loss. Not an uncomfortable sadness; not a particularly sad sadness, even. Just something about nature waking up again, thoughtlessly, that makes me slow down, fall somewhat quiet. And quiet seems to equal sad, as least for me. A little drip of winter in me, not quite melting. As if you step on a warm bus after spending hours outside during a freezing night – it feels a bit like that.

I feel a landscape in beginning spring, tentatively waking, after years of heatwaves and winter frost, with no seasonal rhythm to hold on to and no guarantee. Soft piano notes are whirling over me like winds, a chasing violin. Winter may be back tomorrow, or it may be months away. I feel the shape of a thousand movie reel snowflakes but at the same time, I’m slowly moving away. Tumble down within me, a little bit more without me. Letting go: can you feel nostalgic about things you only ever wanted to escape? I’m feeling how melting snow turns into rain; but then, nothing grows in only drought.

Beginning quote taken from T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land
Soft piano notes… is Fabrizio Paterlini’s There’s a Light We Might See; really calming music, go check it out

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