(I was wondering why there's no similar season-turn feel for spring to summer or autumn to winter. I think it's because summer and winter are undeniable phenomena. You can tell when they're ending. In August the air gets drier, the (early and sick) leaves start falling, things are distinctly different. Equally, in March the sun gets stronger, snow if it falls doesn't linger, winter is definitely broken. But spring to summer is unpindownable, and happens in different months in different years. Sometimes indeed summer starts in April. Ditto fall, though my feeling is it's all over when the leaves are gone. Doesn't stop fall weather from occasionally hanging in to mid-December.) (In Japan, of course, you know when spring has become summer, but that's because it's the rainy season that ends, not spring per se. One day cloudy grey highs of 18, next day sunny bright highs of 30. Disconcerting is not the word for it.)
I suppose it makes sense that the past should come back at Easter, which is all about rising from the dead: a very antsy prospect, and I don't *care* if it's supposed to be about the conquest of death. The whole account of the resurrection has a fantoddy feel to it to me-- the stone rolled away, the corpse wrappings tossed aside, and this stranger who doesn't look like the man you've known saying 'Don't touch me.' Is maybe why the spring thinness is more likely to revive ghosts of the past than the autumn one. Is maybe why, walking from the local coffee house this morning after finishing West of Sunset, I was visited with a half-memory of Tokyo, a Comic City event at Harumi, the greige sky, the complete blandness of the physical world around me: reminded why Tokyo is so hard to remember in its details: because the details are so forgettable.
However, googling the season change in the cut tag there, I stumbled across a treasure- The Tang Dynasty Times, someone's commonplace blog of umm her mental landscape, by the sound of it.