The smell of streams, creeks and rivers swelling past their banks is rich, heavy. The mud left behind is the color of fine coco and it coats the dead grass and leafless tree branches of early March. The flooding came with heavy rains, melting the snow that had fallen earlier in the week.
I adore the light in central Pennsylvania. I am reminded of that every time I go there; it is the visual equivalent of being smacked in the forehead with a baseball bat.