Tag: time
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July Tries Its Luck
July wanders in with a swagger. It’s heard rumoursabout what summer should beand is determined to give it a go,even if the clouds have other plans.The mornings start bright enoughto make you hopeful,then dim just slightly,like someone turning the dialto see how much you will tolerate. The air grows thicker,not hot exactly,but warm in a…
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June, in a Country that Doesn’t Quite Trust Summer
June arrives without asking,a pale stretch of morningthat starts before you’re ready.The light gets up early here,nosy and persistent,peering through the curtainsas if to check you’re still alive. The days go long and lanky,hours spilling everywhere,refusing to end at a sensible time.The air warms, sort of,in that half‑hearted Scottish way;soft enough for a T‑shirt,cold enough…
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Maybe May
By May, the world has stopped pretendingit’s still waking up.Everything is suddenly louder;the grass, the light,even the shadows seem more certainof where they belong. The days stretch themselves thin,testing how far they can reachbefore the sky snaps back.Blossom gathers in cornerslike someone sweeping beautyinto careless piles. And you feel it tug at you;that quiet insistenceto…
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April Breeze
April speaks in half‑truths:a warm breeze here,a cold shoulder there,never quite committing to either. It lets the blossoms openjust enough to tempt you,then tests your faithwith a sharp, late frost. But you learn to trust the pattern:uncertainty first,growth second,and somewhere in between,your own patience stretching.
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March is a Threshold
March hangs between seasonslike a door left ajar,letting winter mutterand spring clear its throat. The ground softens reluctantly,still feeling the cold,still unsure whetherto trust the light. But something in the air shifts;a quiet insistence,a pulse beneath the soil,and you feel the worldleaning forward.
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February, Lightheaded
February wakes up earlyand forgets its shoes.It tiptoes across the calendarin mismatched socks of drizzle and sun. The days are small animals,skittering out from under the bed,blinking at the sudden light. Clouds practice new shapes:a teapot, a startled goose,something that might be a dragonif you squint with conviction. Rain falls in polite applause,as if congratulating…
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A Hinge That Creaks When You Touch It
The end of the year doesn’t merely arrive.It accumulateslike dust in corners,like thoughts you meant to throw outbut kept because they hummed when you touched them. Time gets slippery here.Days stack crooked.Hours lean against each otherlike they’re tired of holding themselves upright. You start hearing thingslike the soft click of a calendar shedding its skin,the…