Seasons turn like the pages of an ancient story—each one a chapter of transformation. Winter wraps the world in stillness, its bare trees whispering tales of endurance. The rains arrive with their twin gifts—renewal and tempest. Winter is beautiful, but summer is blissful. And between them lies spring—the magic of life itself. What better herald of a new season than the restless winds of April? April— that enchanting month when even the fiercest gusts feel like a gentle embrace.
Our ancestors understood the significance of spring, wisely marking the New Year in April. Even in the West, the New Year once aligned with April before Pope Gregory XIII introduced the Gregorian calendar in 1582, shifting the celebration to January 1. Until then, the Julian calendar observed New Year’s Day around April 1—a time when the world stirs from its winter slumber, when life itself seems reborn.
Spring does not just transform nature; it transforms us as well. As flowers unfurl their petals, an unspoken joy awakens within us. Love has long been intertwined with spring, first recognized by one who was not merely a keen observer of nature but one of its greatest poets. Love is a force—an energy that reshapes and renews. And when love flourishes in harmony with spring, the world feels like paradise.
Yet love is also entwined with desire. Where there is love, there is longing—for people, for places, for experiences. It is desire that compels us to seek the distant mountains, to walk upon desert sands, to capture the rustling leaves in a photograph. To feel the wind rushing through our hair, to stand before the roaring waves of the ocean, to dance beneath the rainclouds, to dip our feet into an ice-cold river, to gaze at the infinite expanse of the Milky Way—these, too, are manifestations of love, as much a part of nature’s miracles as the untimely spring showers.
Love is the force that led humanity to evolve into the most advanced species on Earth. It is love that drives us to seek our soulmates and the wisdom of love that helps us recognize them amidst the cacophony of countless voices.
Love should be as boundless and free as the restless winds of April. Whenever love is confined, it withers. As Paulo Coelho wrote in Eleven Minutes:
“You can’t say to the spring: ‘Come now and last as long as possible.’ You can only say: ‘Come and bless me with your hope, and stay as long as you can.’”
Eleven Minutes
That is love. That is the truth of spring. Spring comes and goes, but what remains are the memories and the hope of another season of bliss. And when monsoon arrives and spring bids farewell, love does not wait for its return to find joy again. Instead, it embraces the summer rains and the golden hues of autumn.
Even autumn, for those who truly understand love, is another spring. Albert Camus captured this truth when he wrote:
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
Autumn is not death—it is another kind of rebirth. Only those untouched by love see autumn as an end, just as they fail to grasp the wonder of spring. Pity them, but do not scorn them—for what they lack is love itself.
bhaskar saikia 
Leave a comment