Even Colder

“Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude”

— William Shakespeare, As You Like It, 2.7

Even as Easter approaches and spring flowers bloom, the birds return from the south to build their nests, the burned fields turn greener than any spring in recent memory, and still winter clings to us, now a month past equinox.

S wandered up the Meadowlark Trail from a nearly-empty parking lot. Only three joggers. A coyote called as clouds marched eastward from hillsides draped in fog. A 3/4 moon peered down through the clouds, then vanished again.

3.75 miles up and back, and the edge of night arrived as S reached the parking lot.

Phase 2: home for chicken noodle soup, etc.