Snow boulders expose their sedimentary layers, the sun and wind and bare ground an archaeologist slowly chipping away, exposing the history of the past winter.
There are footprints passing over a snow dune, heading toward the pond. They are indistinct, yet firm. The sun saw them before the blizzard, and the wind polished the snow off the dented hardpacked surface. Before long, the footprints will be in the pond, as will all of the landscape on this side of the dike, and the summer world will reappear.
Flash floods are redirected; where they win, the miners are redirected. The road becomes a maze of potholes and muddy lakes, and equipment that mere days ago was scrambling to get snow off the road is now trying to fill potholes with mud. Our pond surges in size - a vertical meter, two. We have the room, and the snowmelt is welcome. The pond will be empty again come autumn.