This thing called spring just keeps on happening. And every time it comes around it's like a forgotten postcard buried in an old suitcase.
Good grief - look at those fresh green shoots sparkling in the sunlight. Each one has the shimmer of a thousand volts.
I've never noticed that before.
And what about this fresh scented air that fills the nose and lungs and wraps the heart with sweetness?
I've never felt that before either.
And what are those birds doing? They're chasing each other like children on the first day back at school.
In springtime everything is new - even the memories.
This spring has a special step to it. After months of staring out the window, this spring more than ever feels like being let out of prison. It's been a hell of a lockdown winter.
On a bright blue canola day you feel like skipping down the street.
I felt like that when I walked down Fryers St last Saturday. I had to stop myself swinging from a lamp post like Gene Kelly. I didn't want the fun police after me. And there were no puddles to dance in, just pure sunshine.
People were sitting outside under verandahs and canvas and enjoying breakfast. There was even a little picket fence. It felt like a small piece of Paris. There should have been an accordion player and the blue haze of Gitanes and revolution in the air.
For some, the pandemic has been a chance to sow discord and division either on the streets or behind closed doors in the windowless, fetid rooms of political argument.
Don't wear masks — it's a government conspiracy to control us and stop us gathering.
Don't get vaccinated because they want to microchip you.
There's no pandemic, just a scamdemic. There are no hospitals packed with people gasping for breath. It's a mild flu.
And behind it all is Desperate Dan the Dictator.
Well that's what some of us think.
Fear always breeds ignorance. And vice versa. And of course, where there is ignorance and fear — there are votes, and dollars.
But now the sun is shining and the buds are out and the village square is filling up again, I wonder if all the conspiracy theories and the finger pointing will seem quite so appealing? You can't hold on to fear and anger forever. Can you?
I reckon all that stuff will soon go back into the suitcase along with the old face masks. Then in a few years while we're rummaging for memories to show our grandchildren — we'll come across them again and take them out, hold them up and laugh, saying `remember them?'.
For now, we're still stuck in the COVID bubble. But when it bursts, as it will soon, we'll be able to see clearly again and realise that what Dan did was for the best.
Meanwhile, just like those persistent electric buds — life pushes on.
John Lewis a senior journalist at The News.
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