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I can smell the aroma of spring drifting in air still bearing winter's chill; a chill though now without the bite of only a couple of weeks ago. Berkshire winters give up the ghost reluctantly and often there's still snow on the ground when the crocuses and daffodils begin to appear. Not for a while yet, I'm afraid, but still, something has changed, as if winter has finally accepted that it's time to head south for the summer.
Last night in class I felt the familiar awakening of renewed flexibility that I have come to identify as a harbinger of the promise of spring. The gumminess of my joints, jelled by winter's icy grip, is thinning and by May, or June at the latest, my ukemi will, at last, once again not reflect my advancing years.