Affaires de femmes

Spring is fast approaching (or not fast enough, as far as I see it!) and the mood turns to a mellower one, softer, more romantic. My skin starts begging to be let out, on the sun, freed from the many layers that encapsule it in a - sometimes vain - atempt to keep the body warm. The body itself begs for the sun, and the fresh air, and soft, warm breezes.

Despite not having the need - nor the inclination - to celebrate Valentine's day, I do sense that after the 14th of February I tend to find myself attracted to the more romantic side of things, working my creativity in a suaver way, my eye focusing in milder lighting, smoother textures, tender colours and fabrics, in an attempt to run away from the harsh leathers and heavy wools of winter time.

My mind starts dreaming away of warmer climates, and mornings in the sun, Spring's sudden breeze flying away with my hair, flowers that blossom overnight, a perfume that lingers and makes me sigh. White lace, black ribbon, my daydreaming turns to a stroll in a park or a meadow, a parasol of sorts on a woman's hand, her fingers sporting delicate and intricate rings, the sleeves of her blouse coming over her wrists like laced petals on an exquisite flower.

And emprisoned by those fleeting images, I turn myself to what I long for, a lace blouse, fresh and soft and airy, delicately spun as a spider's web, beautified by grosgrain ribbons in black, a splash of a new perfume on the skin, the scent heady yet fresh and new and singing of days that grow longer, and sunblazed eyes that are cast towards blue skies, a bouquet of heady flowers, bursting in colour, and the mesmerizing sound of the birds, chirping and singing away, whistling as if heralders of new begginings, habingers of a brighter future. 

The advent of Spring does this, and there's no denying the magic, the spell it casts on us, as Winter dwindles away, and the whole of nature seems to be reborn, waking up from those slumbers that just a few days ago seemed everlasting, it is quite impossible to resist the call, and the urge, the enchantment Spring brings to our hearts, to our whole self. There is no escape from the sortilege that binds us to wake up within our bodies, stirring feelings and memories and desires in the deepest of our souls, filling our spirits with wonder and the hope for a better day, for a better time, for a better life. Spring is hope reborn again, after the darkness of Winter cold, and I am just unable to escape its lure, but it must be a woman's thing, this bursting of life inside that matches the outside, and all I want is to wear lace blouses that are soft and light upon my skin, and drizzle myself in a new perfume that makes my head spin...