As I write I can see new snow in the mountains. It was 35 degrees this morning. The towering Chokecherry bushes outside the widow expand toward me with layers of spring-juice green leaves. The new depths of color feel rich and expansive in my body but I find I am still focused on images of muted branch reflections. This photograph is a view of new leaves in the evening light ―a merging of water, sky, dogwood. I trust these soft lines. I don’t have to know why.