I Love Winter The Most
It's been snowing here most of the day, I'm just down off the mountain where Tater and I went for a five mile run. We bumped into a pleasant fellow who was working his GWP on pheasant and Hungarian partridge (I didn't have the heart to tell him that Tater had already busted up the Hun covey, just down the hill, MOST zealously).
The snow came thick and it flew in sideways. I found myself choking on the flakes that flew in my mouth and zipped down my throat. The wind, up top, grew teeth. The only shelter was the South facing slopes on the edges of the ravines. My feet slipped out twice and I sat down hard in the snow on steep downhill sections. I found a gorgeous nest in a caragana stand, snapped the branch it was attached to and ran on with that cumbersome and curious natural beauty in my right hand. In the scrub maple, the pheasants were bedded down and cackling.
The powder made a pleasant crunching sound when it compressed beneath my running shoes. My face was slick and pink by the time I came down and I had icicles in my hair.
What a perfect day.