The winter had been rather dry, so nobody complained when a pouring rain came down after the Friday evening local fish fry. The rain danced and played on the tin roof in gentle and hard rhythms. 
Usually spring is nice and friendly. I have picnicked at Lake Mead at Christmas day and at the top of Hualapai mountain the next, with just a shirt and a sweater. Now I try to stop the wind from entering by putting pillows in front of the doorand the words a carpet of snow have become rather literal. Yard art is enhanced by nature. Here a sculpting by Bob Stördahl, putting old rust from the mines to good use.
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