I have been fretting about spring, or, more specifically, the Hong Kong spring. You see, the endless days of gloomy, wet and cold weather does hijack one’s mood.
Spring can also be likened to Easter. A stretch of dark and dismal time which began with the last supper in which Jesus foretold his betrayal by one of his disciples, building up to his arrest and trial and culminating in his epic death.
I do know that there was also his resurrection – his glorious triumph over death. I know. I also know that behind those clouds so thick you can’t cut through with a knife, there is a sun so bright you cannot look at it directly, but I have chosen to subjectively reject its existence. So dejected have I been by the wretched weather.