The weather man says that Spring is round the corner but it is so cold here that it is difficult to believe him. Although most snow has already melted down, there is still plenty of snow on the pavements, the clouds are grey and they look as if they were about to empty their content anytime. This is one of the worst and longest winters since I moved to Warsaw. The romantic connotations of snow and winter were gone long time ago.

Sometimes I think my body needs sunlight. I do not know if this need for sun is written in my genes, but after several weeks without seeing the sun, without feeling the sun in my skin, I feel blue.

I am looking forward to Spring.

To Spring

by William Blake (1757-1827)

O Thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! (4)

The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime. (8)

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee. (12)

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee. (16)