In Which Fresh Grief is Mingled with Fresh Snow

Snow, like grace, falls quietly, gently, making beautiful the bleak and barren.

It’s spring! It’s Spring!–There should be a lamb-like exodus of winter, not this drifty cold and downy fluff. But this, too, is grace–this cool touch that freezes the soupy bog of my driveway so I don’t have to navigate the deep ruts of mushy mud quite yet.
Today is a clean, fresh start.
I’m sure there shall be tears. When lack of light reminds me of your absence and my skin aches to feel the weight of your warmth, my lips will remember the curve of yours and tremble as I sob into my pillow, regardless of the rightness of this choice. But that will come later, when the frozen bands of numb conviction begin to thaw.

For now there is clean snow, descending in beautiful pensive swirls of white that mitigate the muck, even if only for one more day.