4 Seasons Dublin Link

December. The city froze hard. The canals iced over. People walked with their heads down, breath pluming like ghosts. Aisling didn't fight it this time. She let the dark come. She wrapped herself in it like a blanket.

But spring, in Dublin, is a liar at first. It whispers of warmth, then slaps you with a hailstorm. She walked down Clanbrassil Street, hands shoved in the pockets of her worn coat, not looking for anything. The cherry blossoms on the council-planted trees were tentative, pale pink buds clenched tight against the wind. 4 seasons dublin

“Do you ever feel like you’re late for your own life?” he asked. December

She returned to the old man on Clanbrassil Street. He was still there, on his crate, though now the pigeons were fewer. His name, she learned, was Mr. Singh. He had come from Punjab forty years ago, had run a corner shop, buried a wife, outlived two sons. People walked with their heads down, breath pluming

Spring would come again. It always did. But first, she had to honour the winter. And that, she decided, was its own kind of courage.