Again tonight the sliver of moon makes brief appearances as clouds repeatedly unveil both it and, a few degrees away, the bright unwinking light of Venus. The day brought an occasional flood of sunlight, but the pearly clouds let fall little rain, and the two never coincided. I enjoy sun showers, and their failure to occur on a day so ripe for them was a disappointment. The cats were pleased enough, though, and spent some time lying on the porch, soaking up what little warmth the periods of sunshine offered. I examined the trees for signs of buds, though I know that they are unlikely to appear before March. It was the fact that the day looked so much like spring, despite the continued wintry sharpness of the air. The changes of light engendered by the moving mass of cloud, the lush, rain-fed green of lawns and bushes, the splashes of color lent by camellia and gladiolus blossoms, all conspired to remind me of April. A few weeks only, and the season will turn. Even tonight I hear the frogs croaking again, and I now and then catch on the chill breeze a hint of what might be the scent of spurge laurel, sharp and clean. As more geese depart, it is as though their calls summon winter to follow them, and that their flapping wings stir small eddies of air that will grow into the winds of March. I eagerly anticipate the change.