*The copyright extends to cover both the image and the text.
Spring arrived early in the mountains this year. Fresh on the hills of a rather mild winter by recent standards. Not as much snow covered the ground. Temperatures didn’t drop deep into frozen, frigid single digits or worse. All the right conditions came together for an easy thaw. The birds and squirrels play happily during the day. The night air still holds a slight chill. A reminder we have not fully shed ourselves of winter’s icy grasp. The mountains are old, and in their age they know there is no predicting the weather. Though it may be the beginning of spring, things could change back to winter at a moment’s notice. The snows can return, and not just to fall on the tallest peaks. The mountains find it best not to dwell on these matters. They enjoy the warm days and small creatures at play. A precursor of things to come. The days resemble fall, early in weather and late in appearance. Dead leaves litter the earth. Tree branches are bare, more in line with Halloween skeletons. Spring has not bloomed in full, bringing its pastel palette to paint the landscape. Those days are not far off and approaching with a patient determination. The mountains know this as they know all things. They await the true coming of spring with subtle anticipation. The blooming of a new season, and the new life it ushers forth.
Copyright © Drew Martin 2016