Memory of Winter

It was February, and spring was carefully making it's presence known, like a child playing hide-and-go-seek and judging if it was safe to come out of their hiding place.

The snow that had blanketed the world only a month before, now lingered in only a few places, most of it having been removed by the dedicated efforts of snow ploughs or people with cabin fever, or melted to slush in the streets.

The sky was clear, blue as the forget-me-nots that would soon be peeking through the grass.

Winter was fighting a determined rearguard action against the passage of time, but soon it would be spring, and the snow would be only a memory for the next nine months, until the last leaves of autumn fell, to be covered by the first snowflakes.

For now, a young face lit up with joy as they spotted a patch of snow large enough to make a few snowballs, and small feet raced to be the first to reach it. Peals of laughter, in the soprano tones of youth, rang through the crisp air like bells. Parental sighs whispered in their wake, anticipating muddy clothes and shoes to be cleaned.

It was February, and Spring was waiting around the corner to ambush the world with pollen and showers, and very soon Winter would be no more than a lingering memory, and the snow would be gone.

But it was still Winter, and they would enjoy it for as long as the season lasted.