I really miss the seasons of Europe, spring, summer, autumn and winter, they are all so different. Spring with its morning dew that hangs to the blades of grass and drips from the trees like rain drops in the early hours. Bunches of bright yellow daffodils clustered closely together, trumpets open and petals swaying in the breeze. Strong tulips standing by their side of the brighest colours. These are followed by bluebells, lavender-blue in colour, bell-shaped flowers that delicately hang in numbers from one stem. The foxgloves stand tall and proud, beautiful purple flowers speckled with white. Many shrubs that stayed green all winter begin to flower, lilacs of many colours with graceful butterflies resting on their numerous flowers. The ground scattered with specks of white, blossom that has fallen from the fruit trees yet to bear their load. Some of the tall trees above still look sparce with the small green buds just beginning to open up, others are already in full bloom, a rich green that we only truly see in spring. The spring air is filled with bleeting as young lambs run around fresh pastures, finding their feet for the first time.
Summer brings a rise in temperature and longer days, daylight until 8 o'clock in the evening or even later. Sunny days spent on the beach, people sat on the sands behind windbreakers, others walking the promenade, children building sand castles or paddling around in rock pools, net in hand searching for crabs. The sea water cool on the skin, even in the middle of summer, music plays from the ice cream van that sits near by. Those in the cities laze in green parks underneath large trees reading books, on blankets sit families enjoying picnics, children kneel by the lake sides throwing small bits of bread to the ducks that glide on the water, others run holding tightly onto coloured kites. In orchards, trees are ladened with fruit so heavy that the branches might break. By late summer the fruit begins to fall to the ground and bruises as it hits the dry earth, bees and wasps swarm around as the fallen fruit rots. Days without rain gives farmers the opportunity to work in the hay fields, cutting, collecting and bundling the long grass, a sweet smell in the air.
Autumn and the wind begins to blow. The leaves still hang on the trees, but what were once green now turn yellow, orange, red or purple. As they drop from the trees they glide towards the still dry earth, here they rest upon other leaves that are already brown. Children run down tree lined streets, knee-high in crisp, dry leaves. The leaves crunch beneath their feet, the children with arms full of leaves playfully throw them at their friends. In playgrounds children stand opposite one another, each holding a piece of string attached to their prized conkers. It is a sport that requires preparation and as children walk home from school they keep their heads down, eyes searching for the green spiky shell that can be removed to reveal the nut. Once home with pockets full the work is not done, the hard brown nut is placed in vinegar or painted with nail varnish in order to harden it, ready for school the next day. By the end of autumn most of the trees are bare and the air cool.
Winter is cold and we all eagerly await snow, no matter what our age. As we wake in the morning and pull back the curtains we marvel at the soft, white, untouched blanket that covers all. The air so cold it takes our breath away is not enough to stop children from pulling on their thick coats and wellies and wading out of their houses, pulling sledges behind them. Down hills they slide, screaming as they go, friends stand on the sidelines throwing snow balls. In the garden of nearly every other house stands a snow man, body of snow, eyes of coal, a carrot nose, twigs for arms and dad's scarf wrapped around its neck. The highlight of winter is christmas. Cold outside but warm inside as the fire roars and the lights sparkle on the freshly cut pine tree, presents sit underneath. Turkey roasts in the oven as families sit and watch films or old favorites that pass each year. The odd board game is played, wine drunk, the queen makes her speech then slowly the heads begin to drop as one by one we drift into sleep. I always hope for snow on christmas day, however it never stays very long and when it melts it leaves behind a dirty slush that ebbs away to show early spring flowers begining to break through. The delicate white snow drops and hardier purple crocuses keep close to the ground, the first sign of colour after a bleak winter.
It is over two years since I last saw spring, summer and autumn in England, I only ever return in winter. Here the seasons all seem to run into one, barbecues burn and the sun shines nearly all year round. Even in the midst of winter it is possible to wake with the sun rise and step onto the beach in a short sleeved t-shirt to be met with a full sun, blue sky and not one single cloud. We are approaching summer here, it is hot. I walk every night on the beach after dark, and walking tonight I could still feel the heat in the air, like that of an English summer day. I could smell rain in the air and then I saw the lightening strike on the horizon, it is going to rain tonight. Living in a place where the sun always shines can get too much and I look forward to making the trip home in five weeks. It is always strange going from the intense heat to the bitter cold and for the first week in England I will suffer as I did last year, but it is worth it.
I have never celebrated a christmas in Brazil, it is the one time of year I get to go home, but I do spend the build-up to christmas here in the heat. The christmas lights are already up in the streets, our classroom is decorated and trees stand in peoples' house, but somehow it just does not feel like christmas is coming. I associate christmas with cold cloudy days, frost and snow, bare trees, people wrapped up in thick coats and scarves, wearing boots.
