Late March. Late March! And still winter held on with a vise-like grip. A hike on the last Friday of March ended up along a lake still frozen. Leaves pinned to the surface, notes from the past. The sun shone on the far side of the water, but here we stood fighting the sharp wind coming across the icy water. Sometimes the past will not quit. It would freeze us in place. Winter reaching out tentacles into Spring, and Spring giving fight. Either way, the leaves will sink.