If the wheel of the celestial seasons turns on the axis of a pomegranate* it is not too surprising that spring is as contrary and unpredictable as any daughter of Eve.
In the north she arrives as a thawing ice maiden suffusing the dark skies with a soft opalescent light as she is release from the grasp of Hades. Still wrapped in the soft grey of winter she scatters ice diamonds to form the dew to bathe May Queens and the flowers for maidenly coronets. Her smile may be ripe with promises but her touch can be frigid and her breath glacial.
Innocently coquettish she will turn a young man’s fancy, inspire elegiac larks and transform a monochrome landscape with gentle verdant hues. Her honeyed words drift on a warm zephyr and fill the air with the fragrance of romance to enchant the unwary. As a courtesan might reveal a glimpse of stocking or a harlot a flash a crimson petticoat, she will lure you with fantasies of summer and then turn a cold shoulder. Beware the raging passions of spring fever which burn at midday, are tepid by tea time and turn cold by the light of the moon. After all March madness turns us all into April fools.
*There is always more to a Greek myth than meets the eye. One has to feel sorry for Demeter who was prepared to plunge the world into eternal winter to get Persephone back from Hades. I do not think that she would have been best pleased when she discovered that her daughter had eaten pomegranate seeds and so had to return to Hades for part of the year.