Only half the seasons have songs that take me there. Autumn, which we've already addressed. Summer, of course, has too many, which will make tomorrow's task extremely difficult.
I had to wrack my brain for a "spring" song. In the spring of 1995, I taught a couple community college classes at Greensville Correctional Center outside Jarratt, VA. Spending four hours a week locked in a room with convicted felons discussing western culture and American political processes was an interesting experience, to say the least. The short drive from our home to the prison allowed for one or two songs, at most. I discovered Seal's first release that spring, and of all the songs on that first recording, the one that makes me think of those drives, the move from freedom to incarceration, the uneasy feeling in my gut when the door closed behind me, and the constant surprise at the men's desire to learn (and the occasional surprise when they showed up their instructor!) - it's "Future Love Paradise".
It was a marvelous spring that year, too. April and May, 1995, with the exception of April 19th, when the Murrah Federal Office Building was blown up, were gorgeous, wonderful days. The humidity was low until after Memorial Day. We got our first dog. Lisa's grandmother came for an extended visit, helping us out with the initial training of our fast-growing Great Dane puppy (including going down in to a ditch to retrieve her because we has stupidly made her tie-out chain long enough to allow her to go down in the ditch).
Most of all, though, the song is a hopeful one. Spring is a season of hope, born out of the long dead season of winter. As the light returns, the earth warms, the dogwood blooms, the shadows shorted, it reminds us that there are possibilities, still, in this world. "Future Love Paradise" gives a glimpse of these possibilities.