Some of the pines have shed some of their reddish-gold defunct needles which, having been washed along the pavements by the rain, have clumped in various place where they remain for now. Once they dry, they will be shifted by breezes and crushed by the wheels of passing cars, and their dust will float through the warming air. Soon they will be joined by pollen. That's one aspect of spring I don't anticipate with relish.
The rain has enlivened the moss, and the trunks of the oaks and the fruitless mulberry wear plush green coats while the damp remains. These, too, will soon be desiccated by the changing season. This won't happen next week, though, as another storm is scheduled to arrive. I'd be happy to see the moss remain green clear into May, but the odds of that are slim.
One other bit of color borrowed the sun's brightness this afternoon. The camellia bushes have been blooming since late January, and have not yet run out of buds. Quite a few blossoms have already decayed, and the walk outside my window is littered with fading petals even while fresh flowers emerge and a few deep green buds await their time to open. I expect them to be joined by gardenias before long. I also expect to smell the scent of spurge laurel sometime soon. I sniff the air each time I go out. Nothing puts me in mind of spring's approach more than does the scent of spurge laurel. After that, I listen for the first crickets.
Even the gray cat seemed brighter today. He returned to napping by the fence, and the sunlight playing across his fur revealed the subtle tones of blue in his coat. He stretched and yawned, looked at me, and went back to sleep. I think he enjoyed the return of the sun even more than I did.