All suddenly the wind comes soft,
And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green,
And my heart with buds of pain.


My heart all Winter lay so numb,
The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
Or my heart wake any more.

But Winter’s broken and earth has woken,
And the small birds cry again;
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And my heart puts forth its pain.
Rupert Brooke

As spring begins to stir in the air and as new leaves and buds begin to make their presence felt in the parks, I sense the gathering clouds of depression that return to my mind every spring and stay on till mid-autumn. I hope to stay safe within the pages this year and dance instead with my beloved pagans.