About half of recent years have looked like this:
April 19, 2013 snow
Photo by J. Harrington
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April 4, 2014 snow
Photo by J. Harrington
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April 17, 2014 snow
Photo by J. Harrington
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April 3, 2018 snow with purple finches
Photo by J. Harrington
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Spring Snow
A kind of counter-blossoming, diversionary,doomed, and likethe needle with its dropof blood a littletoo transparently inlove with doom, takesissue with the season: Not(the serviceberry brightwith explanation) not(the redbud unspoolingits silks) I know I've readthe book but not (the lilac,the larch) quite yet, I stillhave one more card toplay. Beholda six-hour wonder: sixnew inches bedecking therailing, the bench, the topof the circular table likea risen cake. The saplingsmade (who little thoughtwhat beauty weighs) to bowbefore their elders.The moment bears morethan the usual signs of its owndemise, but isn't thatthe bravery? Builton nothing but the self-same knots of airand ice. Alreadythe lip of it riddledwith flaws, a sortof vascular lesion thatbetokens—what? betokensthe gathering returnto elementals. (Shewas frightenedfor a minute, who hadplanned to be so calm.)A dripline scoringthe edge of the walk.The cotton batting blownagainst the screen begunto pill and molt. (Whoclothed them out ofmercy in the skinsof beasts.) And evenas the last of thelightness continuesto fall, the seepageunderneath has gainedmomentum. (So thatthere must have been adeath beforethe death we call thefirst or what becameof them, the oneswhose skins were taken.)Now the more-of-casting-backward-than-of-forward part, which musthave happened while I wasn'tlooking or was lookingat the skinning knives. I thinkI'll call this mercy too.
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