a little madness in the Spring - is wholesome even for the king. ~ E. Dickinson

Today the sun was big and bright and warm.

A bird warbled madly in the tree outside Anna's house.

The daffodil spears are poking up Bravely through last autumn's leaves.

And the wishes and hopes for Spring, which have been bubbling and tumbling wildly about inside me for many days now, reached a fever pitch.

Soon, I will have to dash out and dance in the pasture in celebration or explode with a bang which will make all my guts go flying nastily around.

(See, Spring? I am becoming so dark and gruesome from months and months of cold and clouds and studying Poe and Hawthorne that I desperately need your refreshing. Come quickly!)