I walked home late one night, the streets muffled, the plows not yet out. I stood in the middle of the road and looked toward town, watching the snow fall in the yellow globe of streetlight. It was like a movie; too soft and slow to be real. Turning ahead toward home, toward the darkness where the streetlights end, the tree branches that normally block the starlight were catching snow instead -- elder giants holding armloads of it above my head, protecting me, it felt like, but also threatening to dump a shower of frozen crystals down my back should I displease them. The sidewalk was bulged and distorted from the tree roots, the houses dark. The air was so fresh it hurt.
It snowed all night, and the next day too, and the world became like a dream.
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| The road home last weekend through Curecanti National Recreation Area, near Gunnison, Colo. |
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| Blue Mesa all dreamy and Arctic-looking |
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| The lacy branches across the street, as seen from my bedroom window |
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| Snow crystals clinging to a fence while I shovel the walk |
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| Snow-encased sentinels at 11,000 feet |
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| Snowboarding at Crested Butte on Sunday |
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