I woke up this morning to this scene outside my bedroom window:

So, yeah, just a normal spring day on the mountain. We had snow earlier in the month, too, but in between those times, the mountain was ticking off more and more of the more typical “signs of spring” boxes.

The trees budding…

 
The early wildflowers blooming (this is a western white trillium)…

The last of the snow around the house melting away…

 
The landscape looking less white and more more brown and green…

The streams rushing with snowmelt…

I wasn’t supposed to be here today; I was supposed to be in Chicagoland, attending a craft conference I’ve gone to on Memorial Day weekend for the past few years. I’d be meeting up with friends and going to favorite restaurants and maybe learning a few new things, too. But that was in the Before Time. I’ve opted to let my ticket for this year roll over to next year’s con, hoping there will be a next year’s con. Who the heck knows at this point, though. While we wait to see if there will be better treatments or a vaccine or something, I’ll just keep staying close to home, watching the mountain wake from winter and edge toward summer.