A day’s thaw

The ground–that is, earth, soil–is visible.  The spaces between the gravestones on the hill is a mossy, mouse-coloured carpet of last year’s grass instead of dirty snow.  Moist, soft mud is run up in tire tracks along the devil’s strip. I even saw rhodo leaves in the yard along Spring Garden Road’s park.

It’s a trick, of course. Tomorrow or the next day, the temperature won’t rise above zero and snow will blow again.  The skies will turn white-grey again instead of today’s blue.  Tonight’s full moon promises that set up, that joke on our weathered spirits.

But this evening, walking home from Henry House while it was both still light and warm enough to forego hats and gloves….

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