Explore "Winter" by Dallas Lore Sharp on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
One of the very interesting events in my out-of-door year is the February freshet. Perhaps you call it the February _thaw_. That is all it could be called this year; and, in fact, a _thaw_ is all that it ever is for me, nowadays, living, as I do, high and dry here, on Mullein Hill, above a sputtering little trout brook that could not have a freshet if it tried.
But Maurice River could have a freshet without trying. Let the high south winds, the high tides, and the warm spring rains come on together, let them drive in hard for a day and a night, as I have known them to do, and the deep, dark river goes mad! The tossing tide sweeps over the wharves, swirls about the piles of the great bridge, leaps foaming into the air, and up and down its long high banks beats with all its wild might to break through into the fertile meadows below.