Spring, the Season of Endings
We’ve made it to March, and in just over a week by the time this blog goes up, earnest springtime will finally be upon us.
For most, spring is a period of birth and beginnings. The bleak conditions of Winter finally thaw out, allowing nature to bloom and become vibrant once again. Various animals awake from hibernation, and those that do not mate during the season have timed their affairs bring their young into the world so that they may thrive in a time of comparative bounty. It’s because of these traits and others that the season is generally considered symbolic of fresh starts, transformation, and other warm and wholesome themes.
For me, though, spring has always felt a little different. A little more… somber, than what the traditional descriptions would stipulate. Rather than a time of beginnings, spring has, for me, often felt like a period of endings and closure.
It’s largely due to personal circumstances, I figure, but one reason that might relate to some of you is how springtime often marks the home stretch of the (American) school year, what with the onslaught of standardized tests, big projects and exams, scheduling and planning for the following school year, and all the work, procedures, ceremonies, and farewells that graduation entailed. All of this made for a sort of electricity in the air as everything inched closer to summer break, and as I’ve found myself with a job in education, I can confirm that electricity rings just as clearly for the teachers, aides, and administrative folk just as well.
It’s also worth noting that spring always ended up being the season where we had to prepare for all the big, cross-country moves my family ever made. While the actual move-out date was always in early-mid June, the preceding months were filled with the sensation that comes with impending departures. Watching rooms be slowly cleared out until there’s nothing but the bare essentials, feeling those “unfamiliar new house” vibes creep back into somewhere you called your home for so long, making arrangements for last hangouts and parting words with your friends and neighbors… it makes for a rather heavy experience no matter how many times you go through it.
Across these two largest contributors to my anomalous feelings, there’s a shared factor: neither of these mark spring as the terminal point of the experience, but rather the point just before—the general period of “ending” that comes just before the end itself. It’s like when you arrive at the final chapter or falling action of a story; sure, there’s still some race to run yet, but you know that the finish line is waiting just around the corner.
In that case, though, what IS the end? Summer? The very last day of spring? To be honest, I’m not sure. All I can say with certainty is that one way or another, these feelings have had a mild impact on how I write, as I view the themes associated with springtime as boons to be obtained, like the times of peace and long-overdue rest that await after dreadful tribulations.
What about you, dear reader? Is there a chance you might share my feelings? Or is there a chance that you’ve got your own against-the-norm reservations about certain seasons or other miscellaneous topics. Even if it’s the slightest, quirkiest thing, it’s nonetheless a part of you, and if you’re involved in the arts, there’s a good chance it’s something that can and/or will help make your works all the more your own.