Today felt like the first day of spring, for it was a day I retraced my old roads.  Anna, Vicky and I had a riverside brunch, I met up with my book editors and picked up a cheque (yay!).

When my harried partner messaged me tersely, “Where’re we meeting later”, I replied impulsively, “Green Park. I will be waiting for you at the park gates.”

He: “Why.”

Me: “Just come.”

And here I am, lying on the  sun-warmed grass in the park, waiting for him. I’m wearing my granny’s Courrèges trousers; to think, these trousers survived the years. But why Green Park?

Because I took my first steps into womanhood here. My very first boyfriend’s family had a place across the park and though our families had been friends for years (generations!), we started seeing each other illicitly when I turned 13. I would sneak off to the park when my Ma did her monthly shop at Fortnums or when she met up with  her friends for high tea in London. I still remember the excitement of those secret first dates.

I am 48 now, lived several lifetimes crammed into one, a mother of five and meeting my middle-aged partner who had seen me through tough times. I am no longer a 13 year old on the brink of womanhood stealing kisses with a dashing young aristocrat. But you know what, the excitement in my heart is still there, still the butterflies in my stomach as I keep my eyes on the park gates waiting for a big tall man with an annoyed expression sauntering towards me, waiting for that smile of his to light me up from inside.

So yes, spring does come again. Life is made up of seasons after all. We need to die, in order to be reborn. Fear not. Spring will come.

Looking at conkers overhead and cloud formations ❤

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