There is one pile of grey snow left in my front yard. Once it stood a proud and glistering mountain--nine feet tall --and now it is a mere foot and a half high. Once it had a snow cave inside of it, built over winter break by some enthusiastic young men. Now it is surrounded by spongy wet moss and deflated grass. Gravel from our driveway peppers its granular surface.
I know we've had the first day of spring already, but for me the true first day of spring will be when the last bit of grey snow is totally gone.