It’s a warm winter morning in eastern Tennessee, enough for a light jacket when walking Jesse the Dog, in the 40s with a clearing blue sky. All seasonal weather, nothing so special in these parts, but it reminds me of those occasional dead of winter days in New Jersey where I grew up that offered an early, early tease of spring long before the first crocuses peaked. Snow was melting, you could see the ground again and smell the earth. Months of winter remained and more snow might be likely that very week, but those warm January days gave hope in the sudden, delicious perfume of muddy ground.
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