Yellow
Spring seems put on hold. The sky is low and leaden. Cold drizzle, icy wind... What's all this?
A middle aged man walks past me from behind stooping slightly in a black coat with its collar turned up, one hand in the pocket and the other putting up a black umbrella. He quickly walks away from me down the dark gray street. When I walk to the roadside as Coo pulls me, there is an exploding yellow. A daffodil.