The last of the snow finally melted this week.

I told her that's when I was leaving. We'd spend the days walking around town, as far from the center as we could get. There'd still be snow if you got far enough out, in the shadows, in big piles--piles that were probably taller than me when the winter was still full.

But they were shrinking. It wouldn't last long. Neither of us liked the winter but it was all that was keeping me here.

It's been so beautiful the past few weeks. The flowers are blooming and the weather is warm and the sun is shining and it's spring. It's been really spring for a real long time now. And now that the world's alive again and the roads are clear I've got to move on.

I'm sad and worried but if she is she's not showing any signs of it. She just takes my hand and says something like "You'd better go while the pass is clear," and I'm not really sure what she means but I say "okay" and I tie my shoes and check my pockets and my bag for the hundredth time, making sure I have everything--which obviously I don't--and run to catch the bus.

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