When the breeze gets warmer, the air gets lighter and small green leaves begin to bud at dawn, that’s when I know the seasons have changed. From death to something reborn, Spring arrives with a bouquet of flowers and a choir of birds to sheepishly apologise for what winter takes from us. A beautiful sight of land turning from brown to green, the dead leaves being swept away by the gusts of winds of Spring.

I wake up with more hope for the following months, a hope strung up by the warm sunlight, promises of better days. That’s the yearly ritual. Curl up away from the world in the winter, go into a hibernation and preserve some sanity before exiting the cocoon and spreading my wings when the temperatures begin to rise and just hope that there is better things to fly towards than the cold nights and melancholy feeling that winter bears upon me.

I know each season has its place and its purpose but I am allowed to favour one or two more than the others. I know I was made for the warm weather, to be in the daring spotlight of the sun darkening my skin and watching flowers burst and bloom to their fullest potential while following their lead and laughing as the wind shakes the trees and the flowers dance in tune with my happy laughter. I was made to swim into deep waters while watching the sun rays flicker under the water, flirting with me and beckoning me to come up for breath.

But winter is something I have to face. Like facing my nightmares or biggest fears. I don’t want to do it, but I have to. I sometimes wonder if maybe I was born in the wrong culture, or the wrong country, that maybe I actually belong on a warm, tropical island where the sun never sets and the cold never swoops in. Or maybe the desert, a girl with Jupiter coloured eyes, immune to sand in her face and a camel as her best friend. Possibly even living near the warm side of the equator would suit me best.

I am blessed to be in South Africa. At least, that’s how I should look at it. South Africa, where all four seasons come and go as easily as a flock of birds migrate to the climate that suits them best. Sometimes I feel as though I change along with the seasons, shedding my old, dead skin to fit into my new one. I think we all change over a period of time. It’s inevitable. Life happens, a lot of harsh things happen that none of us can ever escape, like death. One can never escape death. Except temporarily, when Spring returns with her mumbling apologies and immediately springs into a flurry of turning the grey into an array of colour to match herself. It is not Spring’s fault, whatever happens before. We have to carry whatever heaviness weighs on our shoulders because as I have learnt, time never stops for anyone, not even for the seasons.

I have noticed the birds are merrier, the horses are lazier, the sun beats down hotter and hotter with each passing day and the dogs snore louder and more frequent. All waiting for Summer to arrive. When Summer returns there will be no mercy from him either. It will be like winter, except the opposite, which I think is why a lot of people prefer to stay stuck in a loop of Spring, where the weather and temperature is just right; not too hot and not too cold.

We are in Spring now, with better days to look forward to. A mood change as we go from August to September and leave behind the damages of Winter. I am thankful for my experiences, all throughout my life, because I know one day they won’t even matter anymore when I leave this world permanently. So for now, I bask in the joys that Spring desperately tries to palm onto me, watch as the new leaves return brighter and happier than ever before, notice the sway of the blossoming flowers and the cold slowly fade away and to return only next year.