Spring is my favorite season. I don't understand starting the new year in January because for me everything is reborn and remade in the spring. This was especially clear last year but it's true every year in one way or another. Spring is ecstatic and wild and liberating.
The flip side is that it also makes me crazy. Or, I can hear FG's objections already, it makes my craziness more volatile, harder to control, more liable to spin out and crash. Sometimes the new bright sunlight streaming through bare tree branches seems horrible to me, raw and unbearable. I am reminded that spring is a time of starvation in the natural world, and once in ours too, when the winter food supplies run out and the new ones aren't available yet. Spring is nature red in tooth and claw, as Tennyson wrote. Or, better to quote T.S. Eliot, who describes exactly how I feel in the opening lines of The Waste Land:
"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."
I want to write a summary of the last year here, answer E.'s question about how we reinvented ourselves after that April Fool's Day, but I can't bear to immerse myself in the quiet of the past right now. The future seems equally impossible to contemplate. I want to lose myself in the immediacy of the present. My mind is filled with wild thoughts, but I'm holding on to the details of life, making coffee and arranging to watch a friend's cat and working on my dissertation, and reminding myself that rebirth hurts every year but the leaves will break through the buds and the light will soften and mature and I will come down off this ledge, cleaner and hopefully wiser yet again.