It feels too good to be true, even though every cell in my body wants it to be so.
There’s been a rapid – and quite remarkable – change in the weather here the last few days, and (dare I say the ‘S’ word …) it feels like the first glimmers of Spring.
The birds too. So much birdsong in the morning street, and the business of building and courting has begun in earnest; seemingly overnight, a switch has been flicked, and we all have permission to get on with the business of living in other ways than the stasis that months of cold bring.
And there are little moments of wonder built into this abrupt transition, everywhere.
Although it’s out of necessity I have spent as much time looking down at the ice-covered pavement than looking up at the brilliant blue sky these past few days, I’m not willing to (completely) curse the ice for its ability to send my feet flying in all directions at a moment’s notice. There’s some lovely stuff underfoot, between me and the battered and frost-heaved sidewalks.
Self-renewing sculptures pocketed the pavement this morning, and had me stopping to get some quick shots before they disappeared under the sun’s influence, at least for a few hours.
It’s all about surfaces just now – and what’s under them. Waiting to see the light of day. Again.