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I wasted no time in throwing the curtains and sliding the glass door open when I got home. My dingy, cave-like apartment half-buried in the hillside was immediately filled with a soft, cool breeze.

Stepping out onto the porch for the first time in months, there was almost no sign of the 15 inches of snow that fell last week. Even on the Peaks, at 12,000 feet above sea level, snow is receding up the slopes like seawater on the beach.

The air same air that stung my face is now sweet and almost warm. Almost. There is a definite shift in the weather and with it comes renewed energy and creativity. There is something about breathing the thin air up here that makes me want to write for hours on end (if there were time for such things).

The pungent odor of a skunk drifts up the hill on the breeze. Yep. It’s spring alright.

— 30 —

I’m a writer and photographer in Flagstaff, AZ, a town that seems to be brimming with absurdly creative people. All this thin air must mess with our brains. If you’re in Flag (or just wish you were), you can find me on Twitter — @jonnyeberle — where today I’m cracking Pope jokes.

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