The last snowstorm arrived quietly, as if it knew it was out of place. Spring had already begun to whisper its presence\u2014through swollen buds, longer days, the scent of thaw in the air\u2014but winter, stubborn and ceremonial, made one final appearance. The trees, bare and brittle, caught the snow in delicate lattices, their branches forming a soft geometry against the cold sky. It wasn\u2019t a storm of violence or drama, but of grace\u2014light snow falling like the last notes of a forgotten song. By midday, it had already begun to melt, leaving behind a memory instead of a mess. It was a reminder that transitions are never sharp edges, but slow dissolves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then, just as suddenly as it arrived, it was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The snow slid from the trees in hushed cascades, revealing slender silhouettes beneath, like old bones waking beneath silk. Water began to gather in shallow places, reflecting both the sky above and the branches that moments ago were cloaked in white. It felt like the land was exhaling\u2014releasing the long-held cold, making space for what comes next. In that fragile in-between, the world held still, balanced between memory and momentum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Spring is here. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The last snowstorm arrived quietly, as if it knew it was out of place. Spring had already begun to whisper its presence\u2014through swollen buds, longer days, the scent of thaw in the air\u2014but winter, stubborn and ceremonial, made one final appearance.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":43267,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[245],"tags":[216,21],"class_list":["post-43270","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-winter-2025","tag-2024-5782","tag-manitoba","entry","has-media"],"yoast_head":"\n