THE RETURN OF BUTTERCUP SEASON

I’ve managed to get a quick lunchtime in the park. I’m on the bench I used to sit on a lot, and then didn’t any more. I could ponder why, but then there are a lot of things I used to do, and don’t do much these days.

What’s nice is the sound of the birds. They’re very vocal today, out here in the warm sun. At this time of year, the trees seem their fullest and greenest; who could blame the passerines for having a good sing-song on a day like this?

It’s the beginning of buttercup season too. There’s a scattering of yellow across the green grass, not quite the ocean that comes each May, but a sprinkling of stars in a verdant sky. Dandelions too, add a little splash of colour where the woods begin and cool shade falls by the tall trees. It’s a pleasant day.

Sammy and I were debating the blossom of the horse chestnut trees the other day. There’s one in the park that we can see from our window, and it’s decorated with those candle like flowers, white against the green leaves. Blossom? Or the cradle of conkers? It always brings me joy either way.

I miss being young, you know. I mean, I’m not old, but I don’t feel young either; it’s the very definition of middle-aged I suppose when you don’t feel either, but it is quite a strange way to describe everyone between about 35 and 60.

Nevertheless, I wish I could just feel as alive as I did. If I could just forward roll down this grassy bank and collapse into laughter at the bottom; if I could cycle so fast that the wind whistles through my hair, or be moving so quick that my fears can’t catch me. If I could hang upside down in the adventure play park and not risk getting arrested. If I could breathe, smell, run, climb… without these dulled senses and creaking limbs.

If I could lie in these fields of buttercups, the lazy sun drifting ahead between the summer clouds without scratching and sneezing. I’d pick one, hold it under your chin and tell you how much you like butter.

Well anyway. I’m not complaining; I have a pretty good life really as a middle-aged adult. I guess the thing to do is to make the most of buttercup season, enjoying the times you have in the way that best suits you in the here and the now.

I’m going to close my eyes for a bit and listen to the birds. That’s a simple joy that would have passed me by when I was younger. And there’s lots of joy out here, if I really pay attention.