I love the look of the last bit of snow, the pockets and patterns formed by the wind’s sending. I love the interweaving patterns of dark earth and white remnant of the storm. I can see the circular lee that surrounds each tree, each post, even the small clumps of weeds and grass. The trace of each ripple of earth can be found in those soundings of snow, crusted now by the melt of day and light, frozen again in the cold of night. In the shrinking length of drifts there is still some tell of the swirling sift of the blowing powder that came a month ago, held on through the long cold of January and the plains.

Even after the storm, there are these small gifts, if we can push away the memory of long nights and harsh winds.