Yesterday, the sun drew near and temperatures rose dramatically. All at once, Montana swung out from underneath snowsqualls and landed in some semblance of spring. My gravel road melted into a bottomless run of mud. The first robins chip-chip-chipped at me from the nearest pine trees. Everywhere outside, spiders and beetles and box elder bugs scuttled on the bare ground between snow banks and ascended up the walls of my house. Flies, seemingly dead in a pile on the concrete floor inside my garage, below the window where they often gather in a panic to escape, began to spin around on the deck like tops before springing into the air and drunkenly flying out through my lifted garage door and into the universe of light. For a while I sat on my front step watching cloud-shadows cross the blue and white Elkhorn Mountains. I watched ravens, like polished chunks of coal, veer over the cured grass and snowpatch plain.
Some days, that is easily enough for me.
--Mitchell Hegman
I like the way you described how "Montana swung out from underneath snowsqualls and landed in some semblance of spring."
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