However, in terms of our snow day, Cash was still very much with us. He tackled the snow the same way he tackled the rocky trail a couple of days before: bounding about - up, down, up, down - like a dolphin leaping through rolling ocean waves. Fangs were bared in pure joy and ears defied gravity, extending up like giant bat wings. Cash epitomized the word frolic that morning. We even tried to stage a race across the front lawn to recreate our awesome bridge pictures from our hike. It didn't even remotely work. Cash took off to the side and the kids discovered that trying to run through snow the height of your knees was quite the challenge. See the tongues hanging out all over the place in concentration? (I'm not talking about the dog, here).
And then there were the blossoms. The beautiful, new blossoms on the neighbor's apricot tree that had birthed just the day before this late winter storm opened up and smothered them with an icy, coruscating shroud. I don't know if they made it or not. I'll have to ask my dad. But the pictures of these snow-laden blossoms strike me as simultaneously stunning and tragic. As you can see, I may have gotten a little carried away, bending and twisting under the apricot tree. I just couldn't pass up the layers of contrast: the blossoms representing new life, spring; the vengeful, malignant, stifling snow; and the brilliant expanse of blue heavens, unfurled like a standard of hope and a promise of light and warmth, a big brother to referee the pitiful struggle for life below.