The snow drifts of winter have turned into the pollen drifts of spring. A few days ago my friends and I passed by a young girl who asked her father "Dad, why is the ground furry?".
The pollen lies all over the streets, blanketing out the original colours of the pavements and roads. It is a strange, mossy yellow colour. As far as colours go, it is not a very appealing colour. Yet the texture, the light feathery-ness of it can be discerned just from a glance. It brings about the idea of a lightness in the air, of tiny particles floating about and weaving through molecules of atmospheric gas. The sun is out now more often then there are cloudy days. The absence of stockings, trousers and boots show a clear shift in the mood of the people in London.
Spring has finally arrived to the joy of most, except for those who suffer from hay fever (not me, thank goodness).
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