Dancing in all its forms cannot be excluded from the curriculum of all noble education; dancing with the feet, with ideas, with words, and, need I add that one must also be able to dance with the pen?
All our fat, jolly snowmen have lost their pebble eyes, their carrot noses; they are melting down into abstract, graceful, dancing forms that I find lovely and romantic.
Particularly because on the other, sunny side of the yard, the snow is gone, the bulbs have begun to poke through, the snowdrops nod in the breeze.
All the beautiful austerity of winter and the promise of spring, and the knowledge that in another few days the rains will come and wash it all away.
It was a good winter. But I am ready for the explosion of spring, the buzzing of insects, the return of the birds. It’s a nice feeling, watching the dance of the seasons, sitting contentedly between appreciative contemplation of the past and the anticipation of joys to come.