The other night, as I stood in the dark backyard, having a piss against the fence by the compost heap, I became aware of a low rushing sound at some distance away. As I tuned out the sound of nearby traffic, the sound clarified like an image coming into focus. I realized I could hear the sound of water flowing.
Well, obviously.
But this was the sound of the river, a half-mile away. The river was running again, and the pond behind it—across which I had walked in heavy boots just weeks ago, over ice a yard thick. Now there's open water, the waterfall is doing just that, and God help us, it is indeed Spring, or near as dammit.
(Hm? Why was I—? Oh, you know: marking territory. Keeps the coyotes away.)
(What's that? There are no coyotes in this neck of the woods? Well, there you go, then: it's obviously working.)
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