Buckets and barrels and heaping piles of it.
Drifts and hills. So beautiful, and so labor intensive.
The second largest single storm dump in recorded history in Vermont, all in one long whomp of 20 some hours.
The view from the back deck doors, which is usually down two steps, is now an impassible uphill. The door is snowed shut. It's just too much to bother to dig out at this point. Such a pristine, polished marble curve down the hill of the back yard. Who would want to mar it with footprints?
Skiing right out the door is lovely, though. This morning I went out for a glide before noticing the temperature, and had to turn back because my fingers were burning from the cold. Time in the woods is so important: gliding under the towering forest restores body and spirit. So easy to spend too many hours in front of the monitor staring at little symbols and dots and images that are entertaining, but limited.
Have been spending late nights with Mountain Nest… The center has me boggled a bit, caught up in the challenge of composition and not sure where to go with it at this point. The struggle is part of the process I know, but it's not my favorite part.