It’s late March and at last the earth turns toward the sun. Evening skies stretch out in hope. Still a heavy snow lies on the ground, winter’s last effort, weakened by an afternoon of warmth. Soon it will vanish and spring will win for another year. The bare trees reach upward into an opalescent sky, endless filigree of lace, infinite tracery, patterned beyond imagination. The first star hangs caught in one of their branches. Their new leaves will emerge, masking their stark beauty for another season. Rosy glow sinks and settles on the horizon.
