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At the Vernal equinox I think of you. A pivotal point in the unfolding year. Blossoms of love spring anew from wizened branches that seemed dead. A blush of pink and mist of yellow and I am reassured that all is not lost to the cold, frozen heart of winter. Catkin tails tremble with each breath of air. And the green, green, red, yellow, white, white, blue laid out instructions are ignored anyway. Let’s freelance it, take a chance and wing it. A cuticle stripped bare awaits anointment, resurrection, renewal. The perfume of jonquils pervades every sense as you dance around your face listening to silence. Paper-white’s petals like tear-stained tissues of regret remind me that among all the pastel-coloured seasonal fripperies and fairy-dust sparkles there’s still a chance for frost to wilt the vulnerable. A fleeting glimpse of Spring nurtures hopes and dreams again; but we can always stick paper flowers on the window in the meantime...