The
snow is slipping away, vanishing either into the ground or into the sky. Brown
dots scar the once perfectly white landscape. It smells like spring, like dirt
and grass and… something. It’s all dead but at the same time it’s becoming
alive. There’s nothing green but it has an aroma of newborn grass. Perhaps my
nose is so lacking the definition of greenery that it doesn’t recognize the
stale smell of dead weeds as being not-alive. But nevertheless, I’m welcoming
it. The snow is drifting away, leaving behind a mess of mud and leaves that I
just can’t wait to explore.
