Spring, maybe.

If this were yesterday, I would say that March is going out like a lion. The wind is roaring and growling around the house, buffeting the walls and banging on the windows. It's a warm wind; it's still one degree above freezing at 11:00 pm. The snow has been melting all day, first in rain and now in the wind.

This morning, when I looked across the field, there were wreaths and spires and swirls of mist coming off the snow, eddying in a slow dance under the warm rain. Then, late this afternoon, the air cleared and the wind came up. We'll be back well below freezing by morning. But a lot of snow got away. Little Stuff's Sunday snowman is leaning far to one side; he may not last the night. And you can see running water everywhere the snow has been cleared.

In other, more favoured climes, the first snowdrop or crocus is the herald of spring. My croci are still fast asleep under their white blanket, alas. Here the herald is the warm wind, the melting wind. And the trickle and drip of water.