In the few months that I have abandoned cold Britain for sunny Spain, it was the magic of the changing seasons that I have missed the most.
Memories come to me in seasons.
A gentle breeze that brings a sudden chill. A glint of sunlight through the towering trees. A sharp crackling of dried leaves underfoot. I can feel, see and hear them as though I am still in that moment. A warm and dry autumn day. You. Me. And the little boy who came after.
I remember the first pumpkin we have ever carved, in our ground floor flat in Lawson Road. It wasn't round or smooth or cheap for what it was but it brought us a smile every time we looked out the window in that week before Halloween. It was the start of a sacred family tradition, borne out of a memory of one ordinary day we wanted to relive every year.
I think of the sound of the crackling fire on cold 5th of November, when we're huddled together outdoors amongst the eager crowd, warmed by the giant bonfire and the strong sense of community. Once the fire calms down, the fireworks would follow and the toffee apples and the drinks in a pub.
I think of the many weekend walks in the Peak District where autumn is a colourful affair and on a right kind of day, anyone can feel like Alice walking in Wonderland.
Like that afternoon we ended up the hill in Matlock Bath where we blew dandelions in the air, picked some berries along the path and waited for the sun to set before the illuminations would begin.
Or the leisurely walk around the Monsal Dale, where we spied on a couple of love birds on a romantic date by the river and encountered a scary-looking bull that made us walk a little bit faster.
Or that 'final' walk up the hill in Ashford-in-the-Water the year we left for Spain, thinking it really was the last time.
I also think of that year when Mama came to visit, when the leaves were just turning golden and we went to the park everyday. I've always felt guilty of the years I couldn't be there after I have flown the nest and I felt grateful that in those few weeks we have been together again, we could share the magic of the changing season. And remember the moments every time we long for each other.
But most of the time, its was the normal everyday things that come back to me. Walking in the park, getting swept by the wind, licking ice cream, feeding the ducks, holding hand, stealing kisses. Because most of the time, it's the ordinary moments that bring out the happiest memories.
Memories come to me in seasons.
A gentle breeze that brings a sudden chill. A glint of sunlight through the towering trees. A sharp crackling of dried leaves underfoot. I can feel, see and hear them as though I am still in that moment. A warm and dry autumn day. You. Me. And the little boy who came after.
I remember the first pumpkin we have ever carved, in our ground floor flat in Lawson Road. It wasn't round or smooth or cheap for what it was but it brought us a smile every time we looked out the window in that week before Halloween. It was the start of a sacred family tradition, borne out of a memory of one ordinary day we wanted to relive every year.
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I think of the sound of the crackling fire on cold 5th of November, when we're huddled together outdoors amongst the eager crowd, warmed by the giant bonfire and the strong sense of community. Once the fire calms down, the fireworks would follow and the toffee apples and the drinks in a pub.
I think of the many weekend walks in the Peak District where autumn is a colourful affair and on a right kind of day, anyone can feel like Alice walking in Wonderland.
Like that afternoon we ended up the hill in Matlock Bath where we blew dandelions in the air, picked some berries along the path and waited for the sun to set before the illuminations would begin.
Or the leisurely walk around the Monsal Dale, where we spied on a couple of love birds on a romantic date by the river and encountered a scary-looking bull that made us walk a little bit faster.
Or that 'final' walk up the hill in Ashford-in-the-Water the year we left for Spain, thinking it really was the last time.
I also think of that year when Mama came to visit, when the leaves were just turning golden and we went to the park everyday. I've always felt guilty of the years I couldn't be there after I have flown the nest and I felt grateful that in those few weeks we have been together again, we could share the magic of the changing season. And remember the moments every time we long for each other.
But most of the time, its was the normal everyday things that come back to me. Walking in the park, getting swept by the wind, licking ice cream, feeding the ducks, holding hand, stealing kisses. Because most of the time, it's the ordinary moments that bring out the happiest memories.
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