they say, one swallow does not make a summer. does a flock (oh dear, do they flock at all?) of larks make a spring? or does a daffodil, for that matter?
but spring is in the air, and all the little critters acknowledge it by chirp, jump or scurry.
the bigger critters get unserious.
and this me is filled with infinite sadness at the change of light, and deep and painful joy, when the morning light turns greyish-lilac, and the evening light makes all things glow.
and it all reminds me of the mingling of the lights described in the silmarillion. before the darkness came. it all reminds of the light lost, and the light to be gained.