The snow is melting. The sun came out today and miraculously the prairie has lost the eight inches of cold white that had covered it. The larger drifts have shrunk, now there are only about two to three feet of snow in front of the house, covering most of the driveway.
It sounds as if my hopeful dreams of last week are coming true. However, instead of there being tender shoots of green springing happily up along with birds singing and warm breezes gently riffling the budding trees, do you know what is currently under that disappearing white coldness? MUD!
With every step I take outside, the thawing muck grabs at me, fighting my laces and attempting to bereave me of shoes. The primordial ooze sucks at the tires of the truck as we attempt to make it to the highway, attaching itself to every inch of not only the shiny parts but also the underbelly where it will slowly dry out on the way to town so that it appears that we are driving a Fred Flintstone-mobile instead of a pickup truck. Mud has found its way onto my living room rug, in distinct prints at the back door, and somehow (is it possible?), spattered on the back of my coat.
I do, oddly, retain some hope that green will eventually prevail. But, for the moment mud reigns.
