It was night. All I could see of the state was white peaks, black sky, and the zigzag promenade of rabbits unwinding in front of the car. It's said that sudden warming drives frost deeper into the ground before it loses its grip, as if to drive home one last tentstake of numbness before the protective canvas unfolds. The wind picks up and blusters. Its fat underbelly scrapes uneven ground, twisting toward me like taffy, slips up over the mountain and showers out across the Great Plains.
Spring is wind, symphonic and billowing.