Fine rain filters down this morning, the weather finally makes a choice. A subtle choice, as the drizzle is too light to disperse the cloud and the clouds are too thick for the sun to be seen, leaving the sky in blended greys. Yesterday a burst of escaping sun threw out an abundance of heat, I could see from winter right through spring to summer. This day’s rain comes like a relocation, back to the end of winter, to a precise place in the perpetual flux between seasons. In the afternoon more sun sneaks out, and the laughing wind chases cloud and shakes the tree branches. The trees are not yet come to leaf, though I note the tall lymes are flecked with dark rosy buds. Blue is seen in the sky, warmth sensed in the air, clouds are whipped into egg white shapes, the crocus swells into flower. Here I find equilibrium, where the description is the narrative, where I am noticing the gauge of the rain.