We can’t see round corners but can you feel the winter breaking? It has broken before when the sun rose high enough above the horizon to forget its torpor and shake its happy doggy self upon us. The clover’s got the grass we laid and the front garden has been reclaimed by weeds again and it seems that time is the finest sand our fists can’t hold, but we’ve summoned little summer beings with torso’s bare and skin sun-thirsty who pull the winter from its throne with every youthful enterprise; we’ll ride with them! The winter is breaking, it cannot bear our sunny optimism, its thin ice melting at the touch, its winds lack lungs. This morning you woke in bed and spoke of your epiphany. It’s been creeping round us this change like an assassin no one trusts, nor thanks for its messy, shadowy work. But we have pulled its cloak away and set it naked to its travail hauling the winter down to become a mere melted puddle in which I can see your eyes reflected, oh I can see your eyes.