Today was bright and sunny, though the cold had no trouble cutting through the layers I was wearing. The sunshine made me think about Colorado. A friend moved out there last year from Buffalo; I used to think he was a pretty stand--up guy till he began posting photos of the area which seems to be continually bathed in sunlight. I suspect it even shines at night, but have no actual proof. It would be nice to have that kind of sunshine, but it comes at a cost. A news report on our local PBS station told about the drought they are already experiencing in one Colorado town; water rationing is mandatory because the reservoir is only at 8% capacity. They figure by June their floating pumps will be landlocked, and they'll have to figure out another source for their water supply.
A story like that makes the snow and grey skies suddenly seem quite inviting. I'm not saying I wouldn't appreciate the first day of spring actually looking spring-like, but one can't have everything in life. The creek is running free again after a month of being frozen so solid that I could have walked on it if I had been willing to navigate through the thigh-deep snow to get to it. I've actually seen the grass poking through the snow in neighboring communities. Ours is still snuggled beneath a foot-deep white blanket, but I can see bare patches in my driveway. I'm still bringing in wood for the stove, but I suspect that what I've stacked in the woodshed will get us through for the year, without even having to touch the last stack under the spruce.
Although it's possible, I can't imagine we'll ever run out of water here; I suppose the village well could go dry, but the creek keeps on running, and area springs keep on flowing. Just last week, Pastor Joe discovered a flowing spring in his backyard. With all the shale that sits beneath the gravel that makes up our yard, I'm not expecting any flowing springs, but we still have the creek. The snow is still piled high, and probably will remain in shadow of the spruce and the rock outcropping in the bend of the creek through most of April, chilly reminders of the hard winter we've been through. By then, people will already be complaining about the mud, the rain, and maybe even the heat. I'll just be thankful to sit on the deck behind the woodshed, sipping my coffee, and watching the creek and wondering how long it will take the waters that pass under the bridge to reach the Gulf of Mexico.
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