Blinking like a mole, Emily escapes her desk. Outside she shivers in the English March wind and cuddles into her woolly scarf.
She snuffs up the smell of rising green, feeling the push of spring bulbs new-green against cake-crumb earth: snowdrops and purple crocus, thrusting free, even through tarmac.
Walking into town, spring sunlight flashes from car mirrors, window panes, oily puddles, angel wings, and marble gravestones. Lake ripples glitter. The clouds are grey canyons, eroded by blue-river sky.
Story spring-cleaning waits in her warm computer burrow. But for now she is transfixed by shimmering leaves and wind through the willows.