I love beginning, and beginning again.

At the start of something, there are infinite possibilities spread clean and sparkling in front of me; like a perfect dandelion not-yet-blown-away.

The joy of seasons changing has to do with this sense of possibility; my blood buzzes more intensely in my veins. I daydream about the things that’ll happen in the coming season, about ritual activities that I love.

As summer begins, I look forward to sunscreen-scented days at the beach, to sandy toes and lazy beer-drinking. I imagine the delight of the kids in the waves, and John’s moan about the sand gritty on our sheets. I love those days when we keep the kids up too late and get too much sun; everyone’s a little cranky and overwhelmed the next day as it all catches up with us.

Then the first crisp cool weather comes. I can wear a sweater instead of a jacket when I drop the kids at school, I can finally focus, like, really focus, for whole days at a time, on my work. The sun shines clear and cool into my newly-silent studio. I work in cafes, buoyed up by the buzzing energy of university students.

Autumn deepens, and cold arrives. As deep days of rain cover Edinburgh and bring on the Scottish gothic mood of winter, I look forward to Christmas parties, mulled wine, and the twinkly lights. I plan what chocolate goodies I’ll make, and look forward to putting up decorations. On dark silent mornings I sit under the colourful glass ornaments, drinking coffee in a flat that’s so silent, but so full.

After new year, winter can become heavy and tired. My morning runs become treacherous, as frost coats the cobblestones, and I stamp and snort clouds of breath. But almost immediately the challenges to winter begin.

Snowdrops in London Road Gardens poke up with cheerful determination. Sunrise comes sooner and sooner, it’s light at school drop, and almost before I know it, it’s light when I wake up.

Right now, it’s raining.

There are big juicy raindrops on the windowpane. In Edinburgh, August rain is a tradition – we cycle across town in a hurry, then wait for a Fringe show to start while we sip overpriced pints. We sit on shipping crate furniture and listen in on the posh English accents of the tourists.