A person who has Raynaud’s Phenomenon (like me) probably shouldn’t be out in the cold.
But I have to admit, I just LOVE the snow.
Last week, when we rolled into Lake City, my eyes feasted on piles of white. There were molehills that looked like marshmallow cream.
Can I make a snow angel?
Please? Please? Pleeease? Like, right now?
Even though I know that with a few seconds of full-frontal on the surface of the snow, my butt will be numb, my ears will be numb, my toes will be numb. And of course, the hands, stuffed inside Thinsulate gloves, will turn first white and then dark purple.
Would it be worth it?
Lake City, Colorado is at 8,700 feet. The air is thin there and the sun feels…well….closer.
And it’s dry. Really dry.
When the sun bares down on fields of white along the Gunnison River at noonday, it is a storehouse of fairy dust.
A light wind blows, tussling a thin layer of powdery goodness into the air. It flutters like a million flirty eye lashes as the breeze dies and crescendos again. Each one searches for a home, a place to land. They are frantic for it. When it is still, they drop and become anonymous, adding to the whole.
Panic sets in.
There are only a few times in my life when acts of nature have caused me to question my mortality. One was Hurricane Katrina. The other was a Force 7 storm three days in to my first sailing trip across the Atlantic.
A thought passes through my consciousness like a quick gurgle of a nervous stomach.
I will get stuck right here, in between Cabin 5 and 4.
And just when I thought I was doing something momentous, like blazing a new trail through the fresh-fallen snow.
Instead, here I will stay, captured by the thingI love most. I will be a popsicle, frozen in place with one foot in front of the other.
Instead, I move on. Shane comes up behind me, blazing his own trail and we make it to the main road together.
Man, do I love the snow!