For one brief moment of transition, the living is easy.
The snow has lost its legs before its time;
it is collapsing under our steps.
I am grieving the passing of this winter,
mourning it as I would the premature death of a weak child.
It was beautiful.
We managed to
finish the wash house...
...that we began three years ago.
In the mild dark days,
we planed, routered and sanded the boards made from trees cut on this very site.
A building is new as long as you are still heating it with its own offcuts.
Now our baths are roof-melt and
rainwater.
No longer do we have to melt buckets of snow and strain
out the spruce needles.
Winter is officially past.
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