It is officially Spring, but tell that to the snow of a foot in the last quiet day.
It started to fall nice and softly, on and off for more than a day it fell without a blush of thunder or despair. Just fell one little inch at a time, until it recovered the ground cleared pretty well for the crocuses to bloom.
I’ve yet to find a hillside of them here, and now the snow would have covered them another few days from reappearing.
But off where few people travel we found a place to bask in the mosquito-less lake front.
After hours of shovelling to get into a place out of the way enough to stay a day, and a rest for recovery, the sun appeared bright and warm, unexpected and not for long.
The sky came alive.
Sky Bright
Previous visitors left Olaf’s cousin to fend for himself, and Kathie decided to level him starting with his all too small head. So after reconstructive surgery with the elements at hand, Olaf’s cousin Otto stands against the trees, leaning on a borrowed staff,
Otto, Olaf’s Cousin
And asking if he’ll have eyes to see with again, and a nose to delight in at all.
Out on her own walking the ice, Kathie’s glove has a life of its own as she bares her hands to take a call.
There is life out here, even after the snow, traipsing around, leaving tracks, knowing the empty table is useless until its filled with a feast for ants and visitors of all kinds.
Across the water the evidence of beaver new and long since given their best effort to fell a tree from beneath. Seems to me the beaver survived only because he was not successful.