28

I could wax poetic on the bountiful beauty surrounding me this morning . . .
but nothing I wrote could come close to describing our world. we have trees with snow coats and iced branches, and light, spanking white powder has settled on every inch of ground. the sun is throwing its beams down from far, far away and the light is diffused by the distance, rendering the world a pale shade of bright.
it is bitterly cold and last evening's slush has frozen into blocks and clumps which were then dusted by snow powder during the fairy hours of deep night.

this is my gift: if I can't be riding my bike, at least I can walk in a world of unspeakable beauty.
my soul wants to be at the top of emigration right now, looking down at the frozen reservoir. surely, by now, the ice has inched its way across the entire body of water? it has been 6 days since I have gazed upon the basin, at which time its belly remained enigmatically ice free. since that time, however, we have had a stretch of cold days, one of which brought 11 inches of snow to the canyon. perhaps, then, those stretching fingers of ice crept across the reservoir's fat stomach to connect with each other, building a solid expanse of ice. or perhaps they are finishing their work this very morning as I type and breathe an ode to the reservoir's chilly existence.
sparkles reflect off the trees standing in my yard, standing just a little bit straighter than they did yesterday. they will shed more of their covering today, as the sun gathers strength and height and the snow remains at bay.

tomorrow the skies will release another explosion of snow, though perhaps it will be less wet and burdensome to the trees and saplings, the shrubs and perennials who sit in blatant dormancy.
and then, then, I am promised that the world will clear and the sun will remain strong and as powerful as the winter season will let it be, and the roadsides will begin to melt. a bike lane or two will again become visible, while foot upon foot of snow will continue to hug the hillsides.
I will scout the roads, watching for cyclists on skinny tires, and make my judgment calls. I will lube my chain, and think about those 28 remaining miles.

I just waxed, didn't I?

ps: picture is courtesy of my new computer toy, a webcam....