Image: Noha Badawi/ Unsplash
Image: Noha Badawi/ Unsplash

The small indicators of summer across campus

Dear Reader,

The moment the temperature creeps past 16 degrees, it feels like the entirety of the UK steps outside at once. Groups of friends make the quick trips to the shops – returning with drinks and snacks – and of course, the speaker with an accompanying Spotify playlist makes its bold entrance into the afternoon.

After all, Spotify has always been about connection.

There’s something so enjoyable about discovering a song so good, it feels like it has been injected into your bloodstream – felt deeply, instantly, and forever tied to a moment. Music has the power to hold our memories, to capture fragments of who we were in the moment. That song you played on repeat in the summer of 2019, or the one that carried you through October of 2022, can transport you back in an instant. They’re like little three-minute time capsules, quietly waiting to be opened, ready to take you home to a version of yourself you almost forgot.

Take yourself back to wintertime: making your way to a lecture, the library, that horrid 6pm seminar. The dark was creeping in by 4pm, taking away the youthful day, dragging our motivation and sense of time. Days begin to blur into one as the seasonal depression takes over, and January blues are all too familiar. You notice many students walking around with headphones on, absorbed in their own worlds. Even the popular TikTok trend, ‘What song are you listening to?’, where someone walks away in slow motion as their music plays in the background, took off in 2024 and has since inspired countless comedic variations.

But as spring approaches, something shifts. The steps of the Warwick piazza begin to fill, and music is no longer kept to headphones – it’s shared.

Alexa, playMr. Blue Sky’ – Electric Light Orchestra

The most visual clue of the season’s change is the wave of colour across campus. Rows of yellow daffodils line the pathways in early March, followed by patches of poppies and bright bluebells. Together, they create a soft, vivid palette that slowly thaws winter’s grip on the University. Alongside this, the smell of freshly cut grass drifts through the air, bringing back memories of school days spent out on the fields, making daisy chains, attempting cartwheels, and kicking a football around, with not a single care in the world.

Cue ‘Walking on a Dream’ – Empire of the Sun

Then, the campus feels alive again. From Leamington to Coventry, students emerge from the hibernation of their University rooms. Finding a bench becomes a challenge, while the once-packed library begins to thin. We almost convince ourselves the air feels cleaner, lighter, fresher, as if something has shifted overnight. There’s a quiet urgency to soak it all in, a shared understanding that the English weather is never entirely reliable.

As you walk past the Faculty of Arts building, people gather outside Café Nero, iced drinks in hand, lingering a little longer than usual. Conversations overlap with bursts of laughter, the low hum of music playing somewhere in the background. Across the grass, students roll out picnic blankets, lying back or sitting in circles, catching up with friends. For a moment, everything feels slower, softer, and a little more carefree.

Turn up ‘Lovely Day’ – Bill Withers

Fashion on campus takes a twist, too. T-shirts make a big appearance, paired with jackets people insist they “don’t need” but carry anyway. Scarves are swapped for sunglasses, even if they disappear ten minutes later due to an overcast. There’s a sense of optimism or manifestation: if I dress like it’s spring, it will be spring. Sure, the wind is still prominent, but we try to ignore it and focus on the slight warmth of the sun.

‘Here Comes the Sun’ – The Beatles

There is something comforting in it all, moving from one playlist to another, as feel-good songs blend seamlessly with the world coming back to life. These small indicators of spring aren’t just part of the seasons’ natural cycle, but gentle reminders that something new is beginning – the quiet introduction before summer’s chorus takes over.

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