Overnight the magnolias bloomed, giant creamy frothy translucent teacups of unfurled petals welcoming the warmth and the light. Hummingbirds flit from one white satin saucer to the next.

I walked beneath the blushing blooming pale pink cherry trees lining the street, the heady fragrance filling the air, drifts of spent blossoms cascading to the ground making a welcome carpet for the spring amid the daffodils. My footprints made soft remarks between the fallen delicate flowers.

This has been a hard winter, one of sorrow and heartbreak, one of brittleness and bitterness. The delightful scent of the daphne permeates the sadness and regret with sweetness, and a promise of things to come.

The sunlight reflects on the river, on the window glass, on chrome, on the streets and I don't know when I've been so happy to see the change of seasons. Big cottony white grey-bellied clouds scud across the blue but their shadows lack the wintry dimness. Last night the world was still and quiet aside from the wee wooing song of frogs.

Spring settled gently her motherly weight on the blades of grass, the boughs of trees, the slumbering bare earth. The response is like a round of applause, an explosion of blossoms, a joyful awakening. Plants entice their winged partners with color and fragrance to dabble in the sweet intoxicating pollen dust, filling the air with a great droning hum of bees and the thrilling buzz of reproduction.

It is a time for taking stock, for checking the portions, for making repairs, for opening every window, for shaking out the dust and sorrow, for catching the light of the sun on my cheeks, kissing gentle lips, and breathing the fresh rebirth. Even the light has changed.