There were days—many days—when I thought we'd never see it.
Signs that spring is around the corner, that winter, which stubbornly held on with razor-like teeth, is beginning to weaken, to ease its bitter grip, to fade.
Icicles stretch downward to needle-like points. The drip of water droplets play as tinny notes. The rush of water echoes through sewer grates.
We relax, but we should be wary: winter has a habit of railing against the growing light.
We thaw for now, we see the movement in the landscape. And we are filled with hope.