Winter’s fat lady hasn’t sung yet where I live. In the hollows of Storm King’s eastern base, ice lurks. Our forecast calls for something frozen and slushy tomorrow. Nothing is snapping – this winter is melting away with great reluctance, highs in the 40s prolonging the freeze, keeping the bite in the wind, just as long as they can.
That’s okay. Because the light is different, and the light is what tells the plants and animals what to do. When I get out of the car in my driveway with the western sky still aglow, I hear a couple of spring peepers* making their song down in the hollow where the garter snakes live, and it feels a little warmer.
*Pseudacris crucifer. I just didn't want to break flow.