Today. A blot of sleet and snow no larger than your fist. That fist you shook at the skies on that last, cold day. And I? A skein of ice. Sublimating to the air. Melting slowly into the forest loam.
Spring is here. The sun is warming the air and nourishing the earth.
But I am not undone.
Wednesday night. Wednesday night. I will return.
15 degrees and heavy snow.
A last hurrah? You never know. There's the rest of March, and April is not out of the question.
|Along the Rock Jock Trail. 3400 feet.|