Changes

There's a change in the air. In the woods behind my studio, the trees are still sleeping their winter sleep, but in their topmost branches the birds have begun to sing of the springtime approaching.

The faeries who hibernate among the tree roots are stirring, yawning, rubbing sleep from their eyes, brushing moss from their cheeks...

...while the stones who stood vigil all through the long, dark, cold months whisper: Wake, now. It is time to awake.

Tilly knows proper woodland etiquette: she chases pheasants and squirrels, but leaves waking faeries strictly alone. (Which is wise, because waking faeries are grumpy.) Today, walking quietly past their burrows, she leads me to a place in the woods where daffodils poke through the forest floor...  

...and it's then that I know that the season is changing. Things change. We don't stay in darkness forever.

Spring will come, and the dafs will bloom. Things change and we change. As we're meant to.