The bed broke. Her cluster of spring jewels, so neat and silent in their burrows below the grey, worn earth, sensed the dilating light and sliced through the frozen soil to meet the burning beams of February. The ground trembled, and soil tumbled over, breaking black as it made way for the army of sweet green things. Restless, they sought out the fresher air and drove beyond the last leaves of decay, unfurling into the lingering twilight, their snowbells chiming merrily with the lush evensong that drifted, feathery, from trees.
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