Dusk aroused a west wind, which carried a hint of the sea. Afternoon gave no hint of change. The mulberry tree's green flowers puffed out small clouds of pollen that hung for a while and then dispersed. A small, white butterfly, the first of the season, explored the new flowers. Lily stalks glowed deep green in shafts of sunlight, the insects buzzing about the still-wrapped blossoms as though impatient for the moment when the first pale streak of white would emerge. The bush at the end of the walk has sprouted flowers, too, and the progress of evening turned them slowly from white to gray, until, by moonlight, they resemble patches of moss scattered over a dark wall. Then came the waves of ocean breeze which now break against that wall and pour into the house, eroding my last thoughts of winter. Night is finally submerged in spring.