Last Snow

I hope that’s the last time I have to shovel out the truck. And scrape the windshield. I hope that’s the last time I’ll see this wall covered in snow. I’m as tired of winter as anybody. But I’m also a little sad.

The end of winter is a small death. Another season is over. Gone.

If you live year-round in Maine, winter is unavoidable. You can wish it away. But to wish away the winter is to wish away half your life. I don’t want to live that way.