soupy

Kahle Road is turning soupy. Mud season has begun. The mixture of snow & bare ground sometimes looks like the hide of an Appaloosa.

At length the sun's rays have attained the right angle, and the warm winds blow up mist and rain and melt the snowbanks, and the sun, dispersing the mist, smiles on a checkered landscape of russet and white smoking with incense, through which the traveler picks his way from islet to islet, cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets whose veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are bearing off.
Spring
Walden
Henry David Thoreau