“Is it spring yet?” my daughter asks urgently from the back of the car. It’s the second time she has asked this question on this one journey already. Multiply that by the number of minutes in the day and you can imagine how often the query comes up. “Erm ... nearly.” is my stock response. “Why?” she asks. “Because it’s getting warmer.” “Why?” It’s a pantomime. She has had a fascination for the seasons since I started trying to explain the weather some time ago. Initially spring came about a day after winter, which in turn followed autumn by about two minutes. Now her appreciation is becoming more subtle and she seems to be on her way to grasping the concept. Not as quickly as I am losing my sanity though.
But is it spring yet? Some say nowadays that it starts on March 1st, and it certainly feels like it has. But I am sticking to the old-fashioned March 20th, the date of the vernal equinox. I want it to be spring for her sake, but I don’t want to mislead her. I hardly dare dream of the joyful day when spring finally arrives. Mind you, then she’ll start asking about summer.