The Melt
We are currently in the second false spring of the year in Utah. The second time the snow has evaporated completely from the backyard, sticking around only in places it has been piled. Some of those piles are to get it out of the way (the driveway), some are to put it in place (for ski trails).
It is far too early for this. Premature by two months, eight weeks, fistfuls of days. Spring happens here in April, with a sneaky May storm always lurking in the 10 day forecast and peeking out from behind the mountaintops.
When I walk into the sun it pings off my back and shoulders and I have to admit how lovely that feels. But there’s tension in the intramuscular spaces sunlight normally works loose because I know it will be gone soon. I’m scared I’ll get used to it; limited good comes with a price tag of discounted enjoyment.
Sitting in my backyard, the snow mounds crackle as they disintegrate into the solar-heated concrete of the patio. This noise can be heard even over the roar of the nearby interstate. Water is louder than an engine on this bluebird afternoon.
I help the process along. Pick up a plate of ice made of tiny clear spheres and heave it into the air. Whatever tissue holds it together is disintegrated by the solarized air.
It lands and the crystals scatter, liquefying in a matter of seconds. I threw a snowball to watch it melt; I destroyed something and watched the fruits of that action. I do something similar when I drive my gasoline-powered vehicle on the roads crisscrossing the warming planet.
It will snow again within forty eight hours and things will revert to a semblance of the what March winter is supposed to be in these mountains. That snow will fall on a melted foundation.
The cycle will begin on shaky ground. The ice will crackle this time because the subzero temperatures will squeeze their fists tighter around all available surfaces, not from melting in the sun.
The melt, the freeze, the time, the warm, the sun, the change. They are all sitting in a circle around the campfire, telling stories about what happens next.