Underfoot

In real close, there's a tiny seasonal struggle underfoot.

Thursday, with my car's battery dead and cruel north winds sweeping the station lot, winter's hold remained vice-like.

I wore a vest beneath my parka.



Sunday with a bright sky and a month's snow dripping, felt ineffably like spring.

And the park was busy in the light of early evening - spring-time runners and city wanderers in seasonal step.

C - monitoring