Seasoning

Imperceptibly, the nights are getting shorter. Apparently. It probably says a lot that my impression is of nights getting shorter as opposed to days getting longer. Not that I don't like the daytime - I'm just not a "summer person". Spring I adore and I'll live through the violent glare of summer days to see the glow of summer evenings and the soft warmth of summer nights while I wait for autumn.

I couldn't live somewhere without seasons. The world turns and hurtles through space, hair gets greyer and lines get deeper. I like to have something other to judge the passing time against than merely the face in the mirror. And it's not about the colours. Okay, it's not all about the colours. Each season has a different feeling - the freshness of spring; the close weight of summer; the ochred brittleness of autumn and the crisp fragility of the winter. They're all so different and have all enspired people far cleverer with words than I throughout the years. I love the change of seasons.

So we roll on. Things change and things stay the same. Every day is much like the last except that it's different. Except that it's all different. Always. Every heartbeat is subtly different to the last. Your heart has never done it exactly the same before and will never do it exactly the same again. Each of the drops of rain I now hear dancing on my front door is an individual, as much as you or I. Each of them a marker, a defined point in the flow of time. Listen. That's a clock keeping time with the rhythym of life.