The seasons

 “It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” ~Mark Twain 

I feel slightly unhinged. I blame spring.

  

My memory travels down seasonal paths.

What’s that?  What restaurant?  Oh, yeah!  When were we last there?  I remember it was cold, windy, too.  Was it September?  I remember wearing the green coat, the one with the fabulous collar.  And Di wore a short sleeved dress and sandals, impatient for summer to arrive. How did she stay warm?  Oooh, and around the same time, do you remember that farewell do at the restaurant by the harbour before it changed hands?  Lisa was there.  She wore those really high heels, the red pair; she came to regret that choice around the end of her third drink.

'People' has become a season.  I remember hanging out with people, sometimes in large groups.  We sat next to each other, laughing out  loud into each other’s faces.  Sometimes we hugged and kissed each other's cheeks.

Now it's spring.  The sun rises, falls.  Little changes.  When did I last take time with my hair?  Was it yesterday?  Was it last week?   Does it matter?  

I hear people.  Sometimes I even see people. There are people just over that fence, walking to and from the sports-grounds, exercising their dogs, sometimes even in pairs talking to each other.   

But are they present?  They don't seem so to me while so much of them is hidden.  I seem to have to get up close to see what the eyes are saying behind the masks.  And that makes so many uncomfortable that I must desist.

 

People on TV.  I can see all their faces  but they annoy me with the ease with which they remove their masks so elegantly.  I want at least one to get their hair twisted in the elastic.