There’s a particular kind of light that arrives with spring. It’s not the brash blaze of summer or the slanted hush of autumn. But a gentler golden, like honey. It slips through the blinds in the early morning, the unexpected warmth coaxing you out of bed with promises of balmy ocean breezes and bare feet on the grass.
Spring here doesn’t shout. It unfurls. Like the first stretch after a good night’s slumber. It never announces it’s arrival, but you always know when it’s here.
I love this season because it feels like a return. Not just to warmth, but to possibility. The air is laced with the scent of wattle and freshly cut grass. The jacarandas on the Lower North Shore begin to riot, painting the streets with lilac confetti. Even the birds (specifically the plovers who have welcomed their family into my yard) sing with more conviction, ushering their new generation into the world.
There’s something deeply inspiring about spring around here. Maybe it’s the way it arrives after the introspection of winter, nudging us gently back together. Picnics reappear. Windows are flung open. Evening bar hopping begins. The ocean invites us back. And suddenly, the days stretch long enough to hold both work and wonder.
It’s a season that invites spontaneity and slow afternoons with friends, old a new, who feel like family by the end of the night.
My wardrobe shift. Linen replaces wool, sleeves disappear, socks traded for sandals, and skin remembers the kiss of sun. We get a little adventurous with our styling, enchanted by the emerging colour of the surroundings.
Some of my most beloved memories are stitched into spring’s gentle unfolding. A cheeky night out sparked by a sun-drenched afternoon on the hill. A spontaneous adventure to a new destination, ending in an unexpected, but hilarious mishap. The impulsive adoption of my beloved furry companion, who’s been part of every season since.
Spring is my favourite because it doesn’t just change the landscape—it changes me. Possibilities emerge that I may not have been open to. Surprises behind every sunset. I will never take Spring for granted. And she will always be cherished.
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