A red kite flew west past my house this morning, a marsh harrier east. A buzzard was bullied off the common by our pair of lesser black-backs, back for another season of duckling-gulping at the pond. Alder leaves grow greener by the day and dog's mercury flowers in my mother's garden; but common gulls are still with us, cold clouds gather, and suddenly it's March again.
As the afternoon sun pierces the cloud a small tortoiseshell flutters through my garden and a common carder queen dangles at a saxifrage.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
A Moveable Feast