It is here. I can feel it. Though my beloved chamelia has not yet bloomed I know Spring is waiting in the wings and it is making me feel…antsy. Yes that’s it: antsy. For this is what being on the crux of anything, let alone a new season will make you feel, antsy, eager, twitchy and burdened by a sense of yes please, now if you can, I cannot wait a moment longer

I can’t. I cannot wait for laundry drying in the morning sun and trees bright green with hope. I can’t wait for mornings standing on the outhouse step holding a cup of tea and looking at what nature has delivered to the garden overnight. I cannot wait for warm strolls in the gentle sun of spring. Birkenstocks and painted toenails. Sunday mornings wandering around car boot sales and housekeeping with every window in the house flung open.

Yesterday Richard built a pretty little white picket fence around our little postage stamp of a garden at the front of the house and as I sat in my bedroom stitching buttons on to the pinboard I was making, (I made something!!) listening to him chatting to the neighbours and heaving wood in and out of the house, it felt like Spring. White picket fences are Spring aren’t they? As are daffodils and red gingham. Re-reading Elizabeth and Her German Garden. Using apple scented washing up liquid, eating lemon drizzle cake and baking cinnamon and clove spiked Easter biscuits. All of it, all of it is my Spring.

But I am trying to wish it into life and that will of course only lead to a dalliance with disappointment. Perhaps more than one. Days when it feels Wintery. When the rain won’t stop and the hems of my trousers are soaking wet all over again. When the wind sends doors slamming throughout the house, and blows eerie shrieks downs my chimney. Perhaps there will be many more days like this before Spring truly springs and I can wander out on my decking barefooted, carrying armfuls of lavender scented laundry ready to waft in the breeze.

This then is about faith. About believing that nature will take her course just as she is meant to, and that I cannot force change by sheer will alone. That Spring will come in all her polka dotty finery when it is time and not before. That until then she is too busy blowing off the last vestiges of Winter to show her lovely face. Too certain that she will have her day in the sun when the time is right, to tempt fate by arriving at her own party earlier than she should.

Until then I will endure this impatient twitchiness. I will carry on with my rather erratic version of the month long Seasonal Scrub and make all the trips to the rubbish tip that it will take to lighten up my life and make me feel like I can breathe again after a long stuffy Winter. Today I am cleansing my body with parsley water drunk warm with a slice of lemon, hanging up my little pin-board in the kitchen and eating lunch with Kath. Tonight I am working some more on the vision board I want to  complete before my fortieth birthday arrives on the first day of Spring. Then I will climb into bed to hunt through my Kindle for the last (rather evasive) quote I need to finish the latest part of The Art of Homemaking and drift off to sleep in a room deliciously scented with the sandalwood incense I currently cannot get enough of…

Spring isn’t here yet. Neither is my birthday. How strange that I should so anticipate one and really rather dread the other…