The last half-mile of my run this evening was accompanied by a blustery last gasp of winter in the form of small spitwads of snow. There was nothing flake-esque about these morsels. They were snowballs valiantly fighting the urge to be a commonplace raindrop. I cheer their effort, and I cheer their eminent failure.
Thin layers of snow-clay glaze the sidewalk cracks that guide me home,
wet, brown reminders of last week's ice.
Bashful hints of green tease a handful of tree limbs, tiny specks of promise amidst a sea of
dirt, salt, grime.
Not a pretty season.
But a welcome one.
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