the snow melts (1)

The snow melts.It doesn’t happen all at once, though. It’s gradual, reluctant, almost tender. The icicles that had clung to the edges of the cabin roof for weeks now shrink, dripping rhythmically onto the wooden deck below.

Patches of bare earth, dark and wet, poke through the thinning blanket of white, revealing dormant grasses and mud that smells of thawing life. The air has a different edge to it, no longer sharp and biting but soft, heavy with moisture and the promise of spring.

Olivia stands at the edge of the clearing, her boots sinking slightly into the slush. The snow around her is streaked with grime, no longer pristine, and she finds herself missing the clean, untouched quality it had just days ago. But this—this transition—is necessary.