Emerging.
Seasons don’t seem to burst here. They arrive slowly, taking their sweet time, and they toy with us in the process. It’s the ocean’s doing, I suppose, something about the currents and the temperature of the water.
Ah, well, there are signs. Slender iris shoots, bright mosses, and deep red ground cover are scattered over the bed next to my walkway. Though the sky is bleak, the air is damp and raw, and the trees are weeks from greening, Spring is emerging bit by bit.
Not Plain Jane 