Spring in a tortoise step

I am watching Gaudi, our daughter, Mia's,  yellow footed tortoise,  pacing slowly and carefully up and down the living room floor.  He looks like something that got left behind when the dinosaurs became extinct, like a small piece of something older than time.

 But I think I know why he is pacing. Like me, he is waiting for Spring.  To Gaudi, Spring means the freedom of the garden, of fresh air, of grass and soil between his claws. He will be able to climb rocks instead of beanbags and lose himself in the shade of the lavender while he chews on leaves and flower petals. To me, Spring means longer, drier days, an explosion of deep pink blossom on our peach tree and most of all the chance that things will change, that maybe dreams will come true.

That's the strange thing about seasons.  They give you hope.  Breaking up your year so that if things are not going well, you can always say to yourself"things will be better in the Spring," "just wait until Summer, you'll see." In England we spend lots of time moaning about the Winter, it's cold and rain and long, dark nights. But sitting next to the blazing fire, chatting, watching TV, listening to music, wrapping Christmas presents -  is the stuff of memories.  There is an aura of cosiness around Winter.  Last year we spent Christmas in tropical Sri Lanka.  It was going home for Ninesh's mum and dad. It was beautiful and vibrant, full of life and colour and sunshine- and Mia and Joss missed Winter.
" Christmas is meant to be cold," they said, as we dived into a swimming pool overlooking the Indian Ocean. And a part of me knew what they meant. When Ninesh and I lived in hot and sunny California, I missed the seasons.  When days are the same length all year round and weather only changes from hot to not-so-hot, there is little to mark one day from the next. Life can stretch out before you in a long, straight, unchanging line. We measure out our lives, not in coffee spoons, but in  seasons. We know what to expect from each part of the year and so while we dream of change, we are not scared of it because we know a part of it will be safe and familiar.  So prehistoric -Gaudi and I will pace the living room floor together, dreaming of the freedom and colours of Spring.

It was my niece's 5th birthday a few weeks ago. Mia and Joss phoned to wish her Happy Birthday.
" Did you have a nice day?" asked Mia.
" Yes," said my niece " but mum and dad only gave me one present that I wanted."
In the background my sister-in-law burst out laughing.
"Not one present," she said " all but one."