Winter didn't seem to want to leave, but I have to admit, spring has definitely started to flow in the branches of the bare trees outside my window. Though they are still without foliage, but one morning, as if all of a sudden, their shriveled brown stiffness seemed plumped up, and they stood prouder against the crisp chilly air. Today I even witnessed birds checking out possible nesting spaces within the boughs, indicating that the real estate market of the avians is going to witness a sharp rise soon. Having said that, the traces of chill haven't left completely yet. A stroll outside means nippy fingers and toes and a chilly red nose. The peculiar smell of winter still lingers, and the air cuts through the sun rays surgically on days that the clouds rest at home. This twilight zone between seasons, when the baton has to be passed between one runner and the next, this will be fleeting in the grander scheme of things. Nonetheless, I can't help but marvel at the emptiness that this phase holds. It is uncannily similar to the time after a break up, when one finally lets go of the last thread of expectation one was clinging on to and finds one's hands dauntingly vacant. Its this space, this distance between 'no longer' and 'not yet', that I'm trying to come to terms with. Well, hope springs. Lets see.