Could this be our February thaw? The ice is melting under the tiny shelves that form at the edges of the snowbanks. You can hear dripping all around outside. It’s still not melting fast enough to suit me, and while I was hacking at crunchy, cracking ice, I found out that my scarf is indeed long enough: I stepped on the end. It was like getting the first scratch on your car, that whole, Oh no, I messed up my brand new possession agony. And then you brush it off and realized it’s not so bad.
Plus, it was a lot easier to cheer up when I found some bare earth, complete with the first snowdrops of the are year poking through. Isn’t this where I came in?
Writing Every Day 