Dirty snow

The streets and paths of Brickebacken are lined with piles of dirty snow. Tonight a damp mist has descended over Örebro; the street lamps glow eerily through the dim gloom. Cold rain has been falling in fits and starts for three days now; the green of the grass has appeared in gradually enlarging patches, the initial snow melt slush on the roads has melted away to leave a wet blackness of tarmac, strewn with gravel that was spread by snow plows to reduce slipping risk only a few weeks ago.

So this is Spring, though no-one really says that. “Spring is on its way,” is what people say, with a smile. Yet I feel a touch of sadness at the disappearing snow, which came too late and is disappearing too soon. There was a fresh purity in its whiteness which I would gladly hold onto for some more weeks, but it is rapidly replaced by the same cold wet greyness which reigned for months before the snows came.

But still, the sight of new growth shooting through icy snow remnants, the promise of flowers and warmth, the sound of birds singing, these things cannot fail to bring joy to our winter weary souls…

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