It was sunny, bright and the temperature reached the 40s (Fahrenheit). My footprints in the snow grew bigger and bigger as the sun rose higher; by the time I returned from running errands, they were gone because the snow had melted from the driveway and the walk.
But as beautiful as the weather was, it wasn’t a pleasure for the eyes: dirty puddles, sodden leaves, and mud. It reminded me of Howard Moss’ poem about New Hampshire (which I looked up because I didn’t trust my memory on it):
After the long /Melancholy of the fall, /One longs for the crisp /Brass shout of winter –
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