Spring in England

There’s a crispness about this place this time of year. A freshness that carries with it the promise of a new beginning.

The sky is a magical shade of blue, with a perfectly smooth gradient towards the horizon. The sparse picture-perfect fluffy clouds sit suspended as if supported by hoards of invisible angels. The sun beams across the landscape casting detailed shadows, and gently kissing everything that crosses its path.

A light breeze dances around, brushing the sun’s kiss away. Soft and powerful, it comes and goes with a comforting caress. The world feels weightless, unconstrained and full of possibilities.

In through the nose, and out through the mouth.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The cold air rushes in, revealing every part of the journey thanks to it’s frosty disposition. It bites the nostrils, prickles down the throat, and fills the lungs with a distinctively fresh feeling.

Breathe in, breathe out.

All the way out. Squeezing the lungs until they have nothing left to give. The warm air soothes the throat on its way towards the mouth where it escapes in a puff of wispy vapour.



Repeat as necessary.

In this place, at this time of year.