A blast of spring snow hit Central New York last night. And guess who the idiot is who transplanted the shovels and snow brushes from the backseat to the storage unit miles away? I should have known winter isn’t done with Syracuse even when the calendar turns to spring. Next year I’ll wait until late May before putting away the snow utensils.
The snow reminds me of a very short poem I wrote. It seems fitting for today.
The grass may not
but at least
it won’t be
covered with snow.