We awoke Sunday morning to a fluffy layer of snow . . .
It weighed down the forsythia. . .
Frosted the trees . . .
As far as we could see . . . winter.
But even as I took those snowy pictures, there was a steady drip-drip-drip
and by midday spring had returned.
By four, there was no snow to be seen
except far away on the highest peaks of the Blue Ridge . . .
The weeping willow and the star magnolia were unharmed. . .
And the daffodils lifted their heads once again.