March 2023

Clear and cold, with a bitter wind to remind me it’s actually March. I watch the sun through the corner of my eye as it climbs through the ridgetop trees.

A fresh inch of wet snow, clinging to every twig—the forest refoliated in white. But already the roof has begun to drip.

The ground is once again armored in white. Gusts of wind materialize like minor demons, treetops crashing together, dropping dead limbs.