Today I saw the first sign of spring: a homeowner attacking the six-foot heap of grey, ice-lumped snow at the end of his driveway with a pickaxe. In another month or two I will sit at a cafe window and watch the pedestrians kick the snowbanks while waiting for the crosswalk to change.
It's too early for us to attack the snow; it would still win. But the greenhouse on my walk home is open. The seedlings are just up. A smell of warm earth and moss.
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