The air has changed, and the great wheels are turning. Spring is creeping ever closer.
There was a freshness in the air that wasn't there the day before. The smell of new.
It's in the wind, in the golden evening sun. In the slush of my driveway, and the weird crunchy ice like dirty lace, that forms on the gravel shoulder of the road. It's in the cockeyed grin of my slowly diminishing snow girl.
Title from Thompson Girl - Tragically Hip