February 22nd 2016

Today wasn’t as warm, but the sun was hot. In the Connecticut River valley, lawns have appeared and only piles of plowed snow remain. This is the first time, of all the winters I’ve spent in Vermont, there’s been grass in the last week of February.
····into the pool of meltwater—yesterday’s sledding
As the great French poet Villon once asked: Where are the snows of yesteryear? Our lives, our friends, our selves are like so much snow—a vanishing season.


108 February 22nd 2016 | bottlecap

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