I sit outside, basking in sunshine that has recently been so sparing – enjoying the Spring-like weather that keeps teasing us and then deserting us to languish in the cold and grey again. I drink in colour, I feast upon hope (which I want not to be a vain hope). I, plaything of Winter, adversary of Summer and mistress of Autumn, long for Spring to come in earnest and speak of new life and growth. It has to be time. Please. Let this be more than just a fling. Stay with me a while. Sing with me. Gently warm the harsh, the hard, the cynical away. Sing of new beginnings and dreams not so far from reality. Give me this, this poetic nonsense; let me have this to enjoy for more than a too fleeting moment, nothing more than a whispered promise you have no intention of keeping. I expect cruelty of Summer, but I expect more of you, Spring! Don’t disappoint me.