“Follow me into just one more spring…”

The song had been running around my head since I’d sat in the house listening to Scott Walker singing it this rainy Saturday afternoon just gone. A song of the deepest longing that has yearned through my life these fifty years past, for all of those springtimes.

It’s also the song that’s crept into my spirit on many of the lowest of depression days. Telling me this will pass, that the light will return and spring will come. Coming in with that green colour it always has. A colour you can’t make up with paint or print, because it’s made of light. The colour of spring.

Today as usual there were things I was supposed to do, a self-driven mind-map full of them. As usual, except the song wouldn’t let me alone. The song wanted me to do something else, wanted me to go and look for spring.

Even though I’ve done so much work and writing lately, all over the changing of the year and loved the doing of it, the song wanted me to stop. To stop and listen to the place where the song dips down and Scott Walker sings:

“Follow me into just one more spring…”

Only once he sings it, in a song that never repeats itself. Only once.

So I stopped and I listened. Then me and a bag full of work walked off looking for spring, late in January though it may be. And spring was waiting for me. Singing its song while I took these pictures.

The words ‘one more’ being the ones that always get to me from the song. Not in a fatalistic way, but in the way of every spring being like a first one. The same energy, the same determined push, the same light. The same “here I am, look at me”.

And I know I’ve written about this song on here before, and will again. Every time the new snowdrops come up. Every wintertime when the new green shoots, in the colour of spring, first appear. My song of days like this. This hopeful song of all my winters into spring.

Listen:

“Hope for me, I hope for you,
We’re snowdrops falling through the night…”

As the afternoon began to cool and end I walked over to Naked Lunch on Smithdown, newly decorated and open again, for some tea and talk and to carry on reading my book. Looking for springtime having turned into an afternoon off.

Thanks to Sarah Horton, for the borrow of your allotment.

Published by Ronnie Hughes

Writing about life, Liverpool and anything else that interests me. As well as working with others to make the world a fairer and kinder place: http://asenseofplace.com.

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