The clean top layers of snow were dissolving, revealing the filthy underlayers.
A swing was looking for a child.
A tree stretched out around telephone wires, reaching, like all of us, for spring.
My destination: Starbucks. It's wildly strewn with Sunday newspaper.
I read four admissions files and a law review article, drank that grande latte, and, hopping over rivulets and puddles, made my way back home.
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