Primavera

She's come, praise be. Persephone has bolted, clattering up the final flight of stairs and throwing herself into her mother's arms. Ranks of daffodils, hellebore and violets line my drive to work. The field where I walk at lunchtime is frisky with lambs. On top of the Downs the wind is still winter-touched, chilling my fingertips and the end of my nose. But I can draw breath again. Why do I always feel this great thrill? After all these years, do I really doubt its return? Apparently the fear the light and warmth will not be back this time is held somewhere very deep within me, a true daughter of the northern hemisphere. So welcome spring! It is good to see your golden face again...