It is nearly eight o'clock, and light still lingers. The pale smile of the waxing moon has only just appeared. The day was one which invited languor, being filled with soft breezes and warm light which made the dogwood blossoms glow, and the sound of hummingbird wings. The front door retains some winter damp, and must be tugged open. I barely had the energy to bother. After all, I could leave the windows open and simply let the day flood through. Spring is using all the energy available, and there is none left for me.