|Moreau Lake State Park|
By John R. Greenwood
Wimpy, thin-skinned layer of white lays napping outside the door. Snow banks so lame, brave chipmunks peer over with ease. Winter winds barely extract a brrrr and green space remains an easy find. A jackpot for old men weary of winters past. A scratch-off season with just one number left, coin ready, waiting to hear if it's a winner or a loser. Heating bills, like a lurch-ready tiger, crouch silent beneath the surface. Rusty snowplows poised like steel sculptures rest garage-side. Plastic shovels with but a few short warm-ups lean neglected against the fence, ready to leap to action when flake-piles beckon. Weathermen with rolled up sleeves pace anxiously, checking the soft purring Doppler moving quietly along the screen. Will spring arrive with nothing to do?