snow melt so loud as to be mistaken for rivers. at least by me, for whom this place is new. again a new place. anew now with a spring that reminds my skin of childhood summers. a landscape so broad even my startling loud laugh is welcome. there is still snow on the ground and I wear short sleeves every afternoon. it’s a windswept leap from winter to heat here on the western slope. complemented by chilly nights of star-full skies.

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