I love winter. I love snow and cold and crisp, clear days.
But February can be difficult. Warmer temps and slush and slick roads--I'm not really a fan. Grey skies are hard to see day after day, especially if I stay in town. I think I'm entering the mid-winter doldrums.
So today my friend Ann and I decided to go skiing up at Lolo Pass. There's glorious FEET of snow up there, and more was drifting gently down as we clicked into our skis and started out on the blue loop. The sky was grey, with bits of blue in the distance, the snow was floating down, and we were nearly the only people out there. (Super Bowl Sunday is a GREAT day to go skiing!)
There's something magical about just being outdoors for several hours. The fresh air and silence and beauty start working their way inside. Two weekends ago I was up at Lubrecht, 45 miles east of Missoula, for a workshop. We spent a good 4-5 hours outside, walking around on snowshoes and scouting out tracks. It was a warm day, and I was comfortable without my jacket (as long as I was moving). We saw numerous coyote tracks, elegant in their long direct lines from point A to point B. Squirrel tracks appearing from holes in the snow, where the squirrels stay warm and protected in the subnivean layer. Grouse tracks in precise lines. Deer and elk tracks, punched deep into the snow. And the long, running tracks of a moose, with a 108" stride. Oh, the stories that are just waiting to be discovered, if only one takes the time to look!
Then our instructor went on a mad hunt for cougar tracks. He walked quickly, almost jogging, and we panted and strained to keep up with him. Through thickets, around Ponderosa pines, up hills, down into the riparian zone. Alas, no cougar tracks, but ah, the delight of dashing through the snow on a bright January day! We turned to head back, walking briskly atop the snow. Sweat broke out on my skin, my breath came more quickly, my stride lengthened, and suddenly I fell into a beautiful rhythm of breath and movement and felt the mid-winter doldrums and workaday worries fall off, left behind in the layers of snow. Do you ever look inside yourself and realize that you are, simply, HAPPY? That the world is a rich and beautiful place, full of delights, and that you are so deeply glad and grateful to be a part of it? And you wonder why you don't do these things that bring you to this contentment more often . . . and then you decide to let that go, too, and just live fully in the moment?
Oh, to be alive on such a day!
Today was another such day. Ann and I skied the 6.5-mile loop, amidst Doug firs and Western larches and Ponderosa pines. We noticed the snowshoe hare and squirrel tracks, heard the squeak of snow beneath our skis, moved in and out among the snowflakes. We talked about life and relationships and finances and dreams and work and change. We stopped to take a breath and listen to the silence and eat dark chocolate. I breathed in the peace of that place and felt its stillness.
On the way home, we stopped to sit in a commercial hot spring for an hour, letting the hot, sulfury water sooth our muscles. The snow began falling more thickly as darkness fell, and the flakes swirled in the headlights and streamed toward the windshield. I felt as though I was flying through space and showers of stars, as though I were part of a glorious wildness.
These are the feelings to hold inside as I begin my week and continue through these February days. Ah, February.
But February can be difficult. Warmer temps and slush and slick roads--I'm not really a fan. Grey skies are hard to see day after day, especially if I stay in town. I think I'm entering the mid-winter doldrums.
So today my friend Ann and I decided to go skiing up at Lolo Pass. There's glorious FEET of snow up there, and more was drifting gently down as we clicked into our skis and started out on the blue loop. The sky was grey, with bits of blue in the distance, the snow was floating down, and we were nearly the only people out there. (Super Bowl Sunday is a GREAT day to go skiing!)
There's something magical about just being outdoors for several hours. The fresh air and silence and beauty start working their way inside. Two weekends ago I was up at Lubrecht, 45 miles east of Missoula, for a workshop. We spent a good 4-5 hours outside, walking around on snowshoes and scouting out tracks. It was a warm day, and I was comfortable without my jacket (as long as I was moving). We saw numerous coyote tracks, elegant in their long direct lines from point A to point B. Squirrel tracks appearing from holes in the snow, where the squirrels stay warm and protected in the subnivean layer. Grouse tracks in precise lines. Deer and elk tracks, punched deep into the snow. And the long, running tracks of a moose, with a 108" stride. Oh, the stories that are just waiting to be discovered, if only one takes the time to look!
Then our instructor went on a mad hunt for cougar tracks. He walked quickly, almost jogging, and we panted and strained to keep up with him. Through thickets, around Ponderosa pines, up hills, down into the riparian zone. Alas, no cougar tracks, but ah, the delight of dashing through the snow on a bright January day! We turned to head back, walking briskly atop the snow. Sweat broke out on my skin, my breath came more quickly, my stride lengthened, and suddenly I fell into a beautiful rhythm of breath and movement and felt the mid-winter doldrums and workaday worries fall off, left behind in the layers of snow. Do you ever look inside yourself and realize that you are, simply, HAPPY? That the world is a rich and beautiful place, full of delights, and that you are so deeply glad and grateful to be a part of it? And you wonder why you don't do these things that bring you to this contentment more often . . . and then you decide to let that go, too, and just live fully in the moment?
Oh, to be alive on such a day!
Today was another such day. Ann and I skied the 6.5-mile loop, amidst Doug firs and Western larches and Ponderosa pines. We noticed the snowshoe hare and squirrel tracks, heard the squeak of snow beneath our skis, moved in and out among the snowflakes. We talked about life and relationships and finances and dreams and work and change. We stopped to take a breath and listen to the silence and eat dark chocolate. I breathed in the peace of that place and felt its stillness.
On the way home, we stopped to sit in a commercial hot spring for an hour, letting the hot, sulfury water sooth our muscles. The snow began falling more thickly as darkness fell, and the flakes swirled in the headlights and streamed toward the windshield. I felt as though I was flying through space and showers of stars, as though I were part of a glorious wildness.
These are the feelings to hold inside as I begin my week and continue through these February days. Ah, February.
I need to spend less time inside.
ReplyDelete