Whenever I wax rhapsodic about beauty of the landscape I live in, those who have lived here a long time have a way of bringing up mud season: “Oh, wait till mud season comes around,” they say knowingly, “you won’t be singing praises then…”.  Well, temperatures have been unseasonably warm for February the last two days, and I am getting a feel for what they mean.

It is slushy and sloppy underfoot, with ankle deep mud in unexpected places.  What begins as trickles and rivulets of melting snow in the morning turns into fast running streams by afternoon.  Even the thickest slabs of ice are dwindling into manageable piles of slosh one can step through or about with ease.  And yes, it is not pretty…not in the least:

But, on day like these, why look down at all?  Why not open the moon roof and glory in skies like this: