A great big rainbow on a bright, sunshiny day without a cloud in the sky; driving along the highway with the sun at just the right angle, with a car just before me, kicking up spray -- a rainbow sprang up, the width of the lane, running from one side to the next -- until the road turned.
The willows are already yellowing with spring. And the waterfall -- the waterfall that only a couple days earlier was streams of frozen water like ribbons, sprawling over the rock -- well, it's still white, but now with the rushing foam of snow-melt. Not a trace of the ice can be seen.
Snow in great big dirty heaps where the entire parking lot had been scrapped off to, after the blizzard. Above it dirty rags of cloud, a shade of gray almost brown, among the whiteness, looking very like the heaped snow.
The sky is mostly clear, the watery sunlight is pouring down despite the clouds there are, and little flecks of snow are wandering about, borne on the faintest breezes and never settling down.
The day is white. Every tree bears along the boughs and branches a trace of white snow, and the very air is white where you can look between them, the falling snow fine but steady till it turns the air to white like mist.
The one advantage of it's snowing bucket while it's above freezing is the roads. The plows have to come through, but once that's done -- even with the ambient dove-gray light, even when the brief peeks of the sun are of a white splotch, so veiled by cloud as to be dimmer than the moon, the roads warm up enough to melt the snow even when light snow was falling. Indeed, when driving home not long after it stopped, the highway was not only bare but dry. Today the snow still stands high, though rivulets of snow-melt run down the side of every road. Some patches are bare already, to be sure; one southerly slope, where the plow had pushed the snow back before, was a vast stretch of grass. Mostly still snow -- but the birds know it's spring and are cheeping and twittering heartily, if not quite in full chorus yet.
A rainy day, washing away snow -- the road is black with wetness and has a mist as white as swans over it, sprayed by the cars, and on the slope the wetness has turned brown bark almost black, and the same with the dead leaves, but snow still spreads in patches, and the paper birches are as white as ever, more starkly against the dark.
Sunlight glows over the forests, the young saplings still bearing leaves and the forest floor littered with dead leaves, and the sunlight gilds both on the saplings and on the forest floor.
Ah, the balmy winds of spring. Sharp today, being both blustery and a bit nippy, but you can tell that it's spring because they are moist. The first non-snowdrop flowers I've seen this spring -- among daffodils budded but not blooming -- were bright blue periwinkles.
Spring flowers -- crocuses in bloom, not in the garden but scattered over the lawn, the first clump of mingled bright yellow and cream shade. As I walk along the way, others are of the delicate purple are also in bloom among more of them.
Mourning doves nestled on the floor of amber colored pine needles -- and while they are grayish brown, with perhaps a tinge of roseate, and the pine needles are brilliantly shaded, yet it is hard to see them. One twitched, and I picked out a couple, and then a third, and a fourth, and then a fifth, and I would not swear to there not being any more.