Today I skied, jacketless, through four inches of fresh powder. A relative heatwave struck, treating us to +6F, a swing of forty degrees from much of last week. I did manage to ski on a mostly windless day in the cold-cold; my breath labored behind my gaiter, my eyelashes thickly frosted and occasionally frozen together. In the open, the snow prisms the sunlight into drifts of rainbow glitter. Within the trees, blue-gray dusk is punctuated by golden shafts eking their way through gaps in the thickly woven branches. And one section of trail proved favorable to a pair of wolves (an hour? a day?) ahead of me.
I wouldn't say I watched the Super Bowl -- I went to be entertained by the handful of deliberately rowdy/intoxicated 30-year-old guys I work/live with. I believe their pre-game Edward Forty Hands began about noon, and football started at 2:30pm our time. They made buffalo chicken dip, cuban sandwiches, steak, hand-battered potato wedges, and a miniature Gatorade cooler cake with a jello center for that satisfying je ne sais quoi.
No comments:
Post a Comment