Field of snow.




Haven’t paid much mind to a sports game in about twenty years.  I think after last night, it may be another twenty before I do so again. Here in Colorado, I thought it would be the thing to do. I’m sticking with snowshoes and horses.  Me, my dog, the wind and wilds.  No teams, no scores, no bets and big bummers.

I just don’t get it. We call it a sport but sit on the sofa to watch. And at the end, one team wins, one team loses.  Like politics and religion.  I’ll stay away from them all.

I send a text message to the boys in Denver. Tell them they’re better off watching the Weather Channel.  Plenty of good news there.  Another storm on the way. And another. And another.  That’s how we like it.

Why I live here.  Reason  #873. A random number.  As long as it is high, for the reasons are many.




Seventeen below yesterday morning.  Thirty-seven above by the afternoon.  Not a cloud in the blue bird blue sky. This morning, another storm rolls in, enwraps. Such comfort in this covering.

Winter is ours.  The sour summer squalls, and I don’t mean the weather, we’ll outlast, out live and best of all, outshine.

I’m in no rush for it to warm up, melt out.  Open ground and exposed earth are a long ways away. The grass I grow in the front window for the dog and cats gets mowed weekly with hand scissors and is presented to the horses as a treat.  We’ll be just fine.

For now, cover them with ice, silence them with snow, as we breathe alone in this still white vast peace.

This is my world.




Simplicity in a shiver. Standing out there with your head tipped back as the snow falls on your lashes and lips and melts on your cheeks and the steam of your breath stings your nose and the dog has the right idea as he flops down and rolls.

How easy it is to forget when summer is so fleeting, the fires the drought the flood. These changing times and changing guard. Now the mountain regains control.  I can’t help but laugh as I watch them flutter away crumpled and useless as last years leaves.


last years leaf


And us?  We are left with the open page, pure white and fresh and free as the field of snow before me.


gunnar in the snow


6 thoughts on “Field of snow.

  1. On February 14, I head north to the White Mountains of New Hampshire for our 40th annual winter snowshoe “Clown” trip. We lost two “Clowns” this last year from a heart attack and pancreatic cancer. The twenty or so “Clowns” assembled this year will pray for their souls and more snow.

  2. Thank you, Gin. Feel as though I’ve been wrapped in celebration. I join you in trumpeting cold…very cold. Balance us up, Nature.

    Spectator sports? In Ireland, I visited Hurley matches – where everyone runs along the sidelines, up and down the field, with the play. Everyone! You should see those nuns yelling their instructions to some of those poor lads who probably still shiver over the voice. The audience was as much a show as the play. God knows what the poor sheep thought who had given up a piece of their green – only to have it trampled and torn.

    Here’s to sustained freezing weather.

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