A grey wall of clouds is over my head. I'll go for my walk all the same, I said. On up the street with my scarf round my throat. Hoping for some sign of spring I might note. It's the first day of May! Something's not right. No buds or blossoms or leaves are in sight. No birds to sing their nest-making tunes. No sign of fowl, of ducks, geese or loons. Just looking for hope, this crazy old guy, Talking to air, calling out to the sky: "You really should listen; it's surely not fair! It's no longer April. O please have a care! For sun-starved mortals a ray or two spare. See - we're pale as the moon now! O can you not see? The sun's never shining. How can this be?" My birthday's in June. There's never snow then. Spring always does come, we just never know when. So bend your head into that cold winter blast. Maybe, just maybe, it's this winter's last.