Change of Seasons

Seasons rarely change gradually: one day it's winter and the next it's spring, or so it feels. The harbinger of spring for me was the hedgehog that scuttled across the road when I came home last night. This morning, not only had it not dropped below freezing during the night, but the sun came out before 8 a.m. I saw my first butterfly of the year. A pair of magpies arrived in the Judas tree, but were mobbed by the doves that had claimed it for a love nest only two days beforehand.

Then it hailed - mothball-sized hail. Thunder and lightning and torrential rain followed. Water started coming through a bedroom ceiling; I wondered if anyone would be available to work on the roof the next day. An hour later, the ceiling fell down. It was a long night.