When the snow starts to melt away, what is revealed is not a beautiful sight, although there are moments of loveliness, such as the subtle early morning reflections of birch trees on the icy pond, in parts bare of snow.....and, there's water.
I look out on ground covered with dried and matted grasses, just beginning to green, and extensively dotted with the turned up earth of molehills, and a tiny rivulet rising from underground.....
.....where it runs amid all the mud.
Springs meander into the pond, where the water creates small channels and churns up mud.
At the western edge of the pond, more water flows, and small green shoots of Yellow Flag iris emerge.
Water flows into my cellar in spring, and also into the shed where I store wood. This spring the water is as high as I've ever seen it.
A tiny stream runs from the well at the upper right, down the lawn, and finally into the pond.
When I looked in my well this morning––an old dug well, lined with stones, 13 feet deep––the water reached the top, close to level with the ground outside. I think of the terrible drought in California, where they will be missing this important aspect of spring: melting snows filling water tables. It is wonderful to see the water moving across the landscape, the water that means life.
And finally, the snow melted down to a thin icy layer, and snowdrops were able to push their way through, the first flower, aptly named, to show its blooms in spring. It is a happy sign that plants are rising from their winter sleep.