Its April and the sun gets higher every day. I just walked home from town and was amazed to feel the sun’s warmth through my jacket. My Australian upbringing taught me to stay out of the sun as much as possible and cover up if sun exposure was unavoidable, but these last years I have become Swedish in my attitude. As soon as the sun begins to radiate some warmth, and climbs high enough in the sky to have an effect, I have an incredible desire to expose my skin to its warming rays. I suspect an inbuilt but unconscious craving of my body for the vitamin D that has sunk through the winter months but which is so necessary for strength of both body and soul.
For all the joy of warmth and light there is still little color in our world. Leaves have yet to appear on skeletal trees; not a flower is seen anywhere. Piles of dirty snow lie scattered beside the road, shady patches of the footpath remain iced over, a constant hazard as I hurry to work in the morning. Slopes facing north remain obscured beneath a thin white cover, though bare patches expand for every day of glorious sunshine. We wait with eager anticipation for leaves to shoot, for buds to bloom.
I arrive home to a kitchen flooded with light and warmth, the sun strengthened by the window’s triple glass. Daffodils and tulips grace the bench. Here there is color and life, a reminder of the life that came with Easter.