Go from Here

Today I skied for 2 hours from my front door. I slipped away from laundry, Xmas obligations, the financial crisis and didn't look back. Aided by a 4-wheel truck that had broke through the 8 inches of snow, I kicked and glided up to a flat mesa while listening to Michael Franti singing, "lift up my arms higher because you never know when you might die." This area should have been familiar, but snow laden branches and misty vistas were disorientating. I caught a glimpse of ice patches floating in Wide Hollow reservoir and knew it was time to turn around. My only fall was around a bend when the thick powder grabbed my ski. When I returned home, a new snowman addition awaited me. He winked at me, letting me know everything is changing.

Leisurely Snowshoeing

Yesterday I strapped on a pair of snowshoes after a brief hiatus. The first thing I recognized: I wasn't skiing. The snaillike pace forced me to look around for my stimulation. Changes were happening fast in this isolated canyon: rocks were weeping, ice covered smooth boulders, strained-striped walls dripped like tar. The steep cliffs narrowed as I stomped through crusty, shaded snow. Birds (Juncos?) hopped in and out salt bushes or ventured up a towering Ponderosa tree. Sage scents wafted around me as the snow evaporated. Yep, time was not moving very fast snowshoeing. Now, if I was a snowflake...

Winter Safe Haven

Winter has settled in and I'm trying to stay put myself. I have groin muscles that are strained and I'm homebound. The dry crunchy snow beckons my X-country skis outward. This is the time for me to tour Escalante's mountains on fluffy powder. I could smell the crisp metalic air as I glide through the popcorn laden trees. Hear only the tweets from birds and try to identify animal tracks before I smash their tracks with my poles or skis. I would dress for the cold to get hot from the exercise. I miss playing in the snow. I must remind myself it's all temporary, all things must end. Just like my injury.