image: vernal equinox @ yogaflava.blogspot.com
This week’s task: As Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, and I paraphrase: “In the Spring a [person’s] fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” What does your fancy turn to in Spring?
My boyfriend looked up from his computer and eyed me with his very own mischievous smile. I’d asked him that question….”What does your fancy turn to in spring?”
My boyfriend is a very well read and knowledgeable man. His smile quickly turned to laughter as he said to me in no uncertain terms: “My fancy, turns to your fancy.”
I knew what he meant for the whole gist of the expression in its literal form is one of a sexual nature. I knew that, he knew that, but that wasn’t what I was asking. I already knew that, as did he.
We had both been through a harsh winter. Seemingly endless days of cold, snow deeper than usual and ice on every tap of a morning no matter how much insulation we wrapped round them.
I said that I wanted to get out into the garden and see what was left of our plantings from last spring; I didn’t expect much to have survived the long winter.
But he had a great plan. He suggested we go hiking in the Wattagongs a mountain range to the west of us and renowned for its picturesque hiking trails.
The weather was turning and with the arrival of the sun and the disappearance of the ice and snow we made our plans. Maps of the walking trails were purchased and our itinerary took shape.
We arrived at our departure spot excited and full of expectation.
By the afternoon we had walked a good ten kilometres, taken a pile of photos and stopped whenever we could to take in the scenery with was in our opinion priceless.
It was as we set up camp atop the Wattagong Falls that things went wrong.
My boyfriend usually very adept at putting up camp was having trouble with the tent. He got so confused and frustrated that he suddenly exploded and kicked out at the canvas that lay about him.
I looked around to see him sitting there, tears running down his cheeks.
The tent was too much. He couldn’t figure it out. A tent he had put up a hundred times before. I had never seen him so distressed.
I went over and gave him a hand to put in the centre pole and secure it with the tent pegs we both knew where to put.
That night he was very subdued and I put it down to the strenuous day we had put in.
When I awoke he wasn’t in the tent. I suspected he had gone to find a safe toilet spot.
I stuck my head out of the tent to see him trying to start a fire. He had gathered a bunch of dry sticks and was trying to light them by rubbing two sticks together.
He didn’t need to that as we had a small camp stove we carried with a little gas bottle. Some luxuries I insisted on.
Again I saw that look of frustration and anger on his face.
I called his name.
He looked up.
I could see he was puzzled.
I asked him my name.
He looked even more puzzled, then downcast as if he recognised the voice but not the face.
I knew at that moment it was time to go home.
Spring had arrived with its warming weather, its regrowth and renewing of nature everything one expects each year. This year instead of giving life my spring was going to take what I loved away.