we slept in. ceej made waffles. and we went up to the mountains.
a frosty night left branches dressed in crystal, and the morning sun
brought out stars lingering in the snow.
this is a language of light and snow that demands my eyes, my heart, my soul.
this is a language that is quiet, but deep and potentially fatal.
how can something so still and hushed change a landscape or take a life?
perhaps this is what draws me : the tension of beauty and terror; creation and destruction.
the rivers were iced over, and the flowing water beneath bubbled to its icy roof.
the shade of trees kept us moving to stay warm, but the sun asked us to stop when it touched the light of the snow.
this is a language i hope never to forget.
somehow i don't think this is a language that is to be spoken,
but a language that is to be heard.
it's going to be a lovely week thanks to stars in white snow.
i'm off to knit, write, bake, and make music.