Here's to Spring
I believe in process. I believe in four seasons. I believe that Winter is tough, but Spring is coming. I believe that there's a growing season, and I think that you realise that in life, you grow. You get better.
I remember the first time I visited the park; I thought it was so beautiful. It felt like I was experiencing some kind of hallucination. I was still settling in, feeling out of place, suddenly young, and vulnerable.
I remember thinking how funny it is to adjust when you're older—how, when you're young, you don't think much about the fact that nothing is familiar, or at least that's how it was for me growing up.
I think I've realized that when everything is new, there's nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but get out, explore, and get to know this new place. When we moved from South Africa to England, it was my very first time being in an English-speaking school—or city, for that matter—but, as with anything else, time passed, and somehow I molded into everything and everyone around me. Your body literally acclimates, and your brain chemistry changes. It’s intangible, but it’s a feeling you can’t deny.
The park felt so much smaller than I remembered, which is funny because isn't it usually the opposite? Newness always feels vast and so big, and you're the one who feels small. I stood by one of the big ponds, and all my senses were buzzing with summer and nostalgia. Physically, I wanted to feel familiarity so badly because I loved the heat on my skin, the way the trees smelled, the crickets buzzing, and the late pale blue sky. Though I didn't really know the people I was with yet, it felt as though I wasn't even looking up at the same sky as everyone else, and I thought, "This park is really pretty, but I don't feel like I belong to it yet."
I've always had an affinity for large gardens with open green spaces, trees, little pathways with those small yellowy stones that crunch with every footstep, antique water features, and still ponds reflecting the towering trees above. The mossy green color of their surface makes you feel cool on summer days.
It reminds me of my favorite book and makes me feel the way I did growing up—running around barefoot with all the dogs on the farm until the air was cool again and the moon had risen.
Today, however, made me feel total gratitude and peace.
I hadn't seen the park with the same eyes as when I first arrived. It had been a whole autumn and almost a whole winter since I'd gone for a proper walk there.
In autumn, the treetops blazed orange, and the ground had been blanketed with crisp yellow leaves. The skies were perfectly blue, but the sun never seemed as warm as it did a week or two prior, as summer walked out the door.
We spent one good afternoon there, and I discovered once again how big the park really is. We talked about taking bikes out to cycle all the way to Versailles someday (we haven't yet, but I know we will when it feels right). It was late afternoon, and there were people with picnic blankets, cycling, and walking with scarves wrapped around up to their noses.
I've honestly never appreciated, seen, experienced, and in a sense, loved autumn the way I have here in Paris. It was magic. I'll always remember that October as bright and cozy, crisp yet warm all at once. I remember Halloween and trick-or-treating spontaneously at night with some neighborhood kids, thinking maybe it would be nicer if the sun didn't set by 5pm. But you know what? I actually liked that it was pitch black when we went out, running through 'scary' alleyways, kicking leaves beneath us, laughing, and seeing the skeleton and zombie displays lighting up our faces. The air was crisp, but not quite winter-cold.
The season changed beautifully from summer to autumn, as if all the warmth of the sunny afternoons and humid evenings had been absorbed by the glowing tree branches, and the heaps of leaves we raked were like flaky piles of gold.
Then, overnight, the gold blankets were swept away. Branches were left bare, shivering in the cold, and winter arrived.
The beginning of autumn, Madeline made this rose from the maple leaves for me & stuck it to my curtain, it's still as beautiful now as it was
Winter welcomed a type of cold that sank into your bones, your icy breaths swirling about your ribcage. Everything was grey, and time felt nonexistent, darkness falling by 4pm. But I remember Christmas lights and markets, nights walking along the Champs Elysees, cheerful carol melodies playing softly amid conversations, fairy lights twinkling above, and the smell of vin chaud and the best vegetable soup I'd ever tasted.
It was magical. I'd walk home from the metro, my face numb from cold, feeling tired but warm and happy inside, seeing the Christmas tree, and getting into bed with that lovely tired, sleepy happiness.
Winter somehow went by fast, though it had its tough moments. I'd rush in between moments, barely noticing parks or surroundings because it was just too cold. Spring felt too distant, and I'd find myself grumpy and frustrated at constantly taking my gloves on and off.
Funny enough, toward winter's end, we had some snowfalls. One afternoon, tired and rushed, standing in the kitchen, I saw white speckles drifting down gently. Standing on the balcony, snow fell quietly, with no breeze, just peaceful white noise. Later, getting into my car, I paused to appreciate the snowflakes and turned on the ignition—my favorite song played on the radio. It felt like the universe giving me a reassuring wink.
Then, weeks flew by. Fridays came around so quickly, making me wonder how time passed so fast. Moments of frustration became just that—moments. It was as if I could feel the sand of an hourglass slipping through my fingers.
I began to love making teas, hot chocolates, layering cozy sweaters, embracing the cold. It made me question why we only hold things tighter when they're almost over.
In ten days, it will be spring.
They say there'll be a lot of rain this season, which usually would frustrate me. But now, I'm choosing not to wish away even rainy days. You never know what lessons they'll bring.
I'm excited and nervous for summer to come full circle. When I first arrived in Paris, summer was ending, filled with warmth and nostalgia. It's still half a year away, and I'll try to be present and patient, though some nights excitement takes over.
How does time pass the way it has? I take extra moments to look at myself in the mirror. I'm not the same person I was when I first arrived.
I truly believe life offers endless possibilities, either by intentional choices or letting it unfold naturally. My journey here has been both. It feels like this version of me was waiting patiently, relieved, saying, "You made it! Follow me."
So this weekend, sitting by the pond, eating sushi, quietly observing, I realized how much I've grown attached to this park. It now feels like a microcosm of Paris itself. Looking over the city, it feels like home, like a familiar maze I know deeply.
Here's to you, Spring.
“Be patient with the storms that pass, and let your heart stay soft, however cold the wind blows. Gather stars from the gloom with open hands, and find the nectar in the rain. No cloud hides the sun forever. Every night kisses its equal dawn.” Anna Zieo.
I am going to try to pay attention to the Spring. I am going to look around at all the flowers, and look up at the hectic trees. I am going to close my eyes and listen.
Songs I listened to while writing