There’s a new sort of Sun in the sky. It’s heavier and bolder and stronger than the Winter Sun which has gone before. Clouds smother its warmth, but you can still feel it, up there, somewhere.
Thin, gold light gilds the edges of grey rain blankets, and hard blue sky is revealed underneath. The air is alive, with breezes blowing warm and cold. The birds have sung bravely throughout the winter, but now they cry choruses of triumph; they have made it through the frost and the sleet and the gales. They have survived.
Summer announces itself in the green, green tree buds, which are welcomed gently by Spring the midwife, who coaxes them into this world with long days and bright afternoons. I crave the thud of sunlight against my skin, but I am content, for now, with the soothing mornings of this season.