Painting the town red.

Great year for Indian Paintbrush. I'd usually see patches here and there along the roads, but never a field completely choaked with the stuff.

Gorgeous.

First green.

Not rolling stones.

Breathe deep. Not.

Spring is in the air. In this case in the form of the pollen off the red cedars. Doesn't affect me or the kids, though Deb seems to be having a time of it. I'm waiting for the Bradford pears to come into bloom. Then it will be my turn.

Traffic Jam.

Raccoon. Deer. Skunk.

Hoarfrost.

Earlier this week, the trees outside the musuem where I work had grown an layer of frost on top of the ice left by the freezing rain.

I suspect that it might have been created by the proximity of the building's climate control exhaust, but I have never been witness to the steam traveling that far.

The accumulation.