The scent of sap is in the air. A couple of weeks ago, you could catch it if you were mindful, if the sun was on a grass. The rainstorm yesterday was the last little push it needed, and now the bushes behind my house are flush with the green glow. Soon, the garden will need planting and the patio put in order so that I can spend the days outside, sucking up delicious warmth. Sun: the best mood-enchancing drug I know.

Winter passed easier this year than some, until about mid-february, when The Crazy came home to roost. Every year, I pace nervously in my mental attic, waiting for it. "Maybe not this year." I'll think. "I've been good so far, this year. I've kept it together! There has been cheer! I've been productive!" Sometimes, there isn't much of a wait before it comes at my inner door with e sledgehammer (Heeeeeeerrrreee's CRAZY!). Some winters, however, it's sneakier, and waits in the bushes outside, watching me through the windows, *stalking*. I always know it is there; at night, it comes in and saps my energy and will to move. But when the strike happens, it's like Hobbes tackling Calvin: it is EXUBERENT in the hostile takeover. This time I only lost half a month, just a little over two weeks, despite the lurking beginning in November. I call that a win in general, the severity of the spell aside.

Spring has come, and I live again!