We got more snow the other day. Not much, but enough to make the ground white once more in the see-saw, back-and-forth of snow, melt, snow, melt that we have been going through for the past few weeks.
The flakes were small and since there was little wind they came down in gentle swirls. Overnight they coated the cottonwoods as if they had been rolled in sugar. All the next day they stood against the bright blue skies as if they were confections on display.
We get skies on the High Plains that are so deeply, darkly blue that you feel you could plunge your arms into them up to the elbows. Against these skies the powdered cottonwoods took on an almost fantasy identity.
I am ready for spring, but there are many aspects of prairie winters that I will miss. Their stark beauty, for one.