as wet snow slumps from moss-covered rock.
Ice fountains drape the trailside ledged, gripping stone as if to hang on 'til June. And, perhaps in some dark wood, they shall.
The air is alive with the rush of wind in pines, filling the wood with the rush of a distant sea and the creak of a tall ship under sail.
Somewhere, unseen, water moves, drips, and rings like chimes in a deep groto.
In prelude to mud season, warm air moves over snow-laden topography - the unique mountain spring weather of teeshirts and winter boots, four-wheel drive and open windows.
With cold nights and warm days, maple trees stand waiting for the first taps of the season. Snowshoes and high taps this year, buckets placed bottom to snow lest they be too high to tip at season's end.
And soon shall be star-filled nights at the boiler, with woodcocks whistling in the darkened skies.
Spring is here. And THIS is spring in the Adirondacks.