Aki loves this kind of snow—loose, cold, and just deep enough for burying her head. We found it covering all the ground in this meadow home of stunted spruce trees. I am willing to wait, hand cold by inaction, as she indulges herself.

In spite of the discomforted hands, I’m thankful today—

for the cold air, blue skies, full sun, no wind

that my new ski boots fit over my ever widening feet

that the little dog takes joy from simple things and I try to do the same

for having enough gas money to fund the drive to this forest trail

having the health to ski down it

I am also frustrated—

that my heavy gloves fail my hands

that a prop plane drones overhead

that we might never see a world at peace.

Skiing on, we enter an old growth forest. I stop where the forest floor is spotlighted by an off stage art director, What story does she illustrate with such backlit beauty?  I ski on before my ignorance leads to more frustration.