The snow is melting fast right now.
I’m in the middle of reading Perelandra. This is relevant. Bear with me. Yesterday I read the chapter where the main character Ransom, after days and days of living on the strange floating islands that rise and fall on the ocean swells like floating seaweed, arrives on a fixed land that doesn’t move with the waves. As Ransom steps on the land, he realizes how much he had missed the familiar sense of walking on solid ground.
That’s how I feel looking out at the snow-free landscape. There’s grass out there. It’s even green.