Gathering in the mud, shrouding the bleak grass, white sparks vanishing into the black river. The ice, as if suddenly remembering, breathed itself across the edges of things, once more covering the surface of shallow ponds. The world turned to winter again. Late March, but the rightness of it sat in our bones.
And then the snow came
And then the snow came
And then the snow came
Gathering in the mud, shrouding the bleak grass, white sparks vanishing into the black river. The ice, as if suddenly remembering, breathed itself across the edges of things, once more covering the surface of shallow ponds. The world turned to winter again. Late March, but the rightness of it sat in our bones.