The evening is cool and misty and perfectly still with a gentle hint of soft rain on the head. The garden is beginning to bloom and grow again and seeks to catch me unawares as it races for spring. How unlike March the season is. Life as we know it takes its mark from our moods and in this month we take point at the rising sun like sentinels. Its warmth invigorates and its light broadens the world and lengthens my day. Clockwork seasons wound to different tensions arrive and depart each year and I feel that this last summer gainfully abided in my labour of the ages shall be worth savouring.