The snow is leaving but like an entertainer, who craves the applause of the audience it made one last comeback.
The temperature is rising but snow still clings to the earth, receding like the hairline of someone who needs to shave and go bald. The last patches of snow reminds me of combover hairs. Fine when the hair is deep, flowing and has presence when you run your fingers through it, but not today.
The claggy, clay soil sticks to your boots. Long after the boots dry the clay will last and stain, a winter residue.
The burns burble with their rhythmic song as the slowly melting snow forms watery threads that run together into the overflowing trenches of water.
The distant sound of a plane going anywhere is drowned out by the geese flying overhead going somewhere.
The sun like a toddler demands your attention desperately trying to break through the grey sky that is a remnant of the cold, snowy winter.
The snow is leaving but like a well loved tv drama it will return in the winter schedule.