One Evening in Early Spring

Undoubtedly spring is here. You can feel it in the warm breeze. You can see it on the streets. This earthy and sturdy city, which held revolutions, executions, Turks, Austrians, Russians is breathing a deep sigh of relief. It’s shedding the evils of winter: the salt on the streets aimed to thaw the snow. The potholes appear and smirk at tyres - which against their will- are steered straight into them. Colours appear. Colours of nature, colours of politics. Colours that mean nothing and yet divide nations. There’s red. Red covers the city. There’s orange. Orange covers the city. There’s blue. Blue covers the city. There’ green. Green covers the city. And in a week we can choose. Do I want the reds to decide about my future? Or do I want the oranges? None of the colours appeal. Can it really be called a choice when there’s nobody sincere enough or truthful enough to put my trust in?

But politics is dirty, it’s the game people play to manipulate and quench their thirst for power. To ease their hunger for leadership. All I want is to tell the tale of this peaceful evening. The city is awaking from the slumber it fell into three months ago. It’s beautiful to see this giant slowly rise. It’s magnificently graceful and tender. Tiny sings of life appear and the gentle giant carries the little songbirds on its shoulders. There’s harmony and sunshine and love all around. The windows are cleaned and the city is rubbing its eyes as it wakes to the sounds of spring. All along I try not to think of you. The Danube rocks boats from all around. Boats that have spent the winter anchored in some lonely part of the river meeting the shore. They are now set free and are sailing up and down the river that rubs against their tired bodies like pearls touching a soft neck. The water sparkles and loves the smothering of the sun’s rays.

The evening descends. The evening comes an hour later: there is more time for the green green grass and the million coloured flowers to bathe in the sun, to drink in the water, to attract the lovely insects and spread life. There’s more time to enjoy the reawakening of nature. So in juxtaposition I sit through images that show the evilness of men. People killed, lives ended so abruptly and so pointlessly. Can a life be ended any other way? I’m left to figure out this one alone. Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend. The evening makes sure it enters the city limits as silently and painlessly as it possibly can. No harsh movements, no sudden leaps, just comforting slowness. I leave the tunnel and walk the stairs to the surface, waiting for my yellow chariot to appear. It whisks me across the river, through the city, up the hill, towards that point I want to be. And we’re racing the red and blue bus and we’re racing the cars and nobody can keep up. We’re winning; we’re winning by a lot. The lights flicker and illuminate the sights that appear so brilliant. Tiny little lights of a thousand dreams. All along I fight so hard not to ever give into you. The street that welcomes me is wearing the name so proudly of no-one less than the great man Bartók himself.

Undoubtedly spring is here. It’s in earnest. It’s impatient and is knocking on our windows and doors. It wants warmth and sun and life. It wants hearts; it wants to rob innocence from those who are so introverted. If only I could promise myself I wouldn’t fall into your arms were I to see you again. Spring collects all the beautiful scents and sends the wind up high to release them all at once on all of us. The city cloaks itself with a new dress, much more glamorous than the one it was basking in before. Its gift is colours and life and love: just one evening in the early days of the transformation, when everything is almost perfect.

Come what may, I will love you until my dying day.