I love living in the mountains. Four seasons keep life interesting, especially in winter. As I walked in the snow on the trail this morning I felt the wind tease at me gently and freeze my breath as I huffed uphill. The snow underfoot crunched and popped as I read the tracks of those who had been here earlier. Two dogs and two sets of shoes…margins not sharp, but still easily readable. Likely from yesterday then. Tall pines surrounded me, sentinels to rake the soughing wind from the sky above. A few broken ones leaned against their neighbors, plates of reddish bark peppered with wood borer damage who now fed and lodged within. Having lost the battle to one of the heavy windstorms that pounded this canyon from time to time, these giant pines waited for the day when they would finally crumble to the forest floor.
No cars, no people except for me, sunlight slashing through the Ponderosas in patches here and there. The creek at the bottom of the draw met the trail but held its tongue wrapped in frozen crystals. I stepped and it held my weight. The hill leading from there with the trail was deep with unbroken snow and would have to wait for another day. Other obligations called, and I was sated with a fresh supply of nature to get me through the day.
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Greg
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