The cracks in Winter's face have appeared, her frozen mask has been shattered and spliced by the Sun. High Spring is here, it's beautiful. The turning gravel can be heard as lifelessness picks itself up and dusts down, brushing away the cobwebs of introspection and cryogenic contemplation that gathered in its wintery grave.

Saturday met me with warmth. I turned the steel shutters outside my bedroom window to let slender beams of light squeeze through, enough not to blind me but enough to mimic the rings of Saturn on my wall. Shades of gray vying for sparkle and brilliance splashed on the wall, dust particles float as if suspended by time. It's magical.

It would be a shame to let the day pass without making the most of it and since nothing in Switzerland is very far away from anything else we decide on a train journey to Luzern.