This morning was grey. You would never know it from listening to all the birds outside. They are in full Spring mode, but the sky looks more like a November morning. The clouds roll steady and determined across the sky, the early sun dampened by the rain that's hanging in the air waiting for the right moment to splatter the sidewalks Pollack-style.

But beneath the melodrama, the trees have started to bloom, bright purple and fresh white buds bubbling out over the limbs. I passed a dazzling yellow daffodil declaring Spring's arrival all alone in an otherwise as-yet-unimpressive flower bed, and a few houses down the first hints of petals peeked out of the razorlike iris stalks lining a fence.

And you can smell the change from the brittle, dry air of winter to the damp, earthy scent of Spring.

It makes me want to go find a hammock to spend the afternoon in, rocked by the breeze that's fighting to keep the eventual humidity of summer at bay for just a few more months.