Meanwhile, back at home, I find every occasion to go outside for the approach of spring.
Sure there is the ignition of wildflowers. But what option do they have? Their clocks say spring. Even when the outdoors do not agree.
As the rain pours outside for the third day in a row. I glance down to the alley and look at the pedals of flowers wash down the sewers. I must, must reflect back to a few days ago.
When the MONSTER (what I call the black cloud that never leave Livingston) changes to wild colors for every twilight, when one can identify the skys.
When now I can reach George Lake. When the Yellowstone recedes. When Arrow Leaf returns to Suce Creek.
And now it seems the weather is too grieving for the moments we live in.
There is HOPE. Maybe.