Spring in the little northern city by the sea: and this is the view from the front window of my house.

We got 8 to 10 inches of snow yesterday . . . the measurement was hard to figure because the flakes immediately packed down hard into a massive wet brick. Inland, the totals were higher because the snow was fluffier, but ours was like Crisco.

It was perfect snowman snow, however, and I had fun making a small Martian to sit outside my kitchen window.

Today, temperatures are supposed to warm, and the neighborhood will echo with drips and splashes and the streets will be slush and my mailbox will fill with snowmelt and all of tomorrow's mail will need to be hung on the line to dry.

Already the sun is shining and the sky is bright blue and snow is starting to slip-slide off the tree branches. By afternoon my snow Martian will be crooked and sad.

I don't have any solid plans for the day. I might start making another hand-sewn book. I might bake bread. I might read the poems of John Donne. I might tinker with my new drafts. It's a pleasant feeling to be aimless, because this coming week will be yet another slog.

Oddly, despite the snow, the day does feel springlike. If I were in Harmony, I'd go hang out with a friend and watch the sap boil. Or I'd snowshoe into the woods with my hat off and my coat unzipped and listen for the barred owls courting among the spruce trees. These brilliant March skies tug at the heart.