Above is a small photo essay of this magical Berkshire weekend when spring finally arrived. 

We spent a wonderful weekend in the country with friends.  And between a brisk and windy Saturday and slow and sun-drenched Sunday spring has arrived.  Arrived in all it’s glory.  With it’s sensual foreshadowing of summer, our sun-warmed bodies exhaling into a perfect relaxation. 

There’s something crushing about the constricted choreography of winter.  Something of the restraints of movement, and of vision, and of breath. An oppressive, if temporal, world of constriction. It cuts edges in me, tearing irritable and serrated corners. By the end of winter I am bone tired, yielding to my worst, my most curt, instincts. I am worn, always moments away from fully dissolving into a frayed inelegance.

So many days and weeks and months spent pining, ever-delirious for the relief of spring.  And then, at last, it arrives.