There's a certain fuzzy feeling when you realise it's past 7pm but the last of the daylight is hanging on. It usually comes a few days before the clocks change. You know you're about to lose an hour but gain some sunshine in return: I use ‘some’ and ‘sunshine’ here very loosely. You can never be too optimistic with the Scottish weather.
My true sign of spring though was the crocuses in my parents’ front garden. Brilliant purple petals would just appear one day, greeting me on still slightly frosty mornings before school. They used to sit in the shadow of a fir tree, planted there when we moved. The tree grew so tall over some 20 years and became unmanageable. My parents redid the front garden then and got rid of it, along with the crocus bulbs. The drive was extended and the remaining part of the garden covered in stones.
I was upset when they told me they were getting rid of it. That tree had just always been there. It grew as I grew. It was how my friends knew which house was mine. I had, however, moved out well before they decided to get rid of it. I was an hour away, learning to be a proper adult in the capital. I was finding new signs of spring in the shape of the cherry blossoms outside the kitchen window, little buds of pink sprouting against those still nippy mornings.
I went over to my parents’ for tea one March, many months after the garden had been done up. I was used to the new look now. The living room had been done up too and Mum showed me her new washing machine. Things change, they always do. Change is inevitable and it's important to our own growth.
When I left that day, a flash of brilliant purple caught my eye. There, two or three crocuses sat, sprouting up through the stones. Through all the years and weather, and a plastic sheet, they had persisted. They had persisted to let me know that the season was changing and spring would be here again.