Winter Park Summer

The sun is on the back of your neck and there's nowhere you have to be.

Snow is still sitting up on the peaks while everything below has gone all the way green — a hundred greens in the trees, and a few pale logs down in the tall grass.

This one went down fast, and I had the sense to leave it alone.

Imagine it on a wall in February, when the light outside has been gray for a month.

There was still snow up there. Nobody down in the meadow cared.