A few short days ago, the air outside was so unseasonally warm it felt more like summer than almost-spring. The peach blossoms were celebrating and inviting the bees to take all the nectar they could carry. Freya just wanted to sit with her feet in the dirt and take it all in. There was a hazy, lazy feel about everything, and it was bliss.
Today it's colder than the proverbial witch's tit, too cold even for the rain to fall so it just hangs out in big grey clouds, being ominous. And spring plays its wicked little games: now you see me, now you don't. But that's okay. I can wait. I've felt your warm breath on the back of my neck, and I know you're just around the corner.