January is not a time for rain. Not in the mountains of Northern Arizona. January is a time for snow and ice, for freezing winds and frosty trees. But the rain came anyway. It turned the days grey and the nights cool.
Gutters sloughed off their winter vestments of brittle ice. Running water collected in pools on top of old, pockmarked snow and burrowed down to the dead grass. Snow that hid in shadowy corners melted away and ran downstream.
The streets turned into lustrous mirrors. The night skies burned yellow.
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I’m a writer and photographer in Flagstaff, AZ, where it does not rain in the dead of winter. Join me in hiding inside and posting on Twitter: @jonnyeberle.