Winter seemed to be slipping quietly out of the door, but evidently it still has business here. The forest floor is transformed.
Where-ever dark objects protrude, they soak the sun’s weak heat. Gradually the surrounding snow sublimates, leaving sleeves of empty space around twigs and leaves.
The nascent growth of spring wildflowers is checked. Buds and furled leaves endure, listening for the click of the door.
David George Haskell 