Back to Front Seasons

For writers on our site that are sitting in the northern hemisphere, the prompt ‘Spring’, posted in early April, was a godsend. They only needed to look out of their windows for inspiration and some of the submissions were glorious reminders of the renewal of life, even as we remained holed up in our homes. For me, twenty five years after swapping the northern for the southern hemisphere, the reversal of the seasons still feels strange.

Spring (250 words)

It’s Spring now in England. There are daffodils, bluebells, blossoms and baby lambs. Lengthening evenings and the anticipation of summer. Pubs spill tables and chairs out onto pavements. Layers are shed, goose bumped arms and legs revealed. Barbecues are cleaned off, squally showers deter no one. Playgrounds swell with the sounds of children, months cooped up, letting off steam, the joy of the fresh air evident on their ruddy cheeks.

Winter has been long, dark and hard.

‘ Ne’er cast a clout ‘til May is out’ – my grandmother’s warning not to be fooled by April’s early promise went unheeded every year as we embraced the weak sun.

In South Africa, the nights have drawn in. Trees have been stripped, the streets strewn with their autumnal leaves, removed by the whipping wind. Like an over amorous boyfriend it didn’t take the time to see how beautiful they looked, but swiftly removed their summer clothes, which are now lying crumpled on the floor, like a lover’s cast off dress.

Lawns turn brown but the Liquid Amber trees burn bright yellow and orange for a few weeks before they also succumb and fall silent. The Highveld withers and slowly dies.

More than twenty years here and the seasons remain forever back to front. How strange that April, a month synonymous with life and fecundity now means hibernation and dormancy.

In September, we swap over, and my season of mists and mellow fruitfulness is exchanged for the start of a long, scorching summer.