Heavenly

One of the best things about ski patrolling is being on the mountain before the sun rises. Now the days are noticeably  lengthening, and chores are usually concluded after the sun is well up.

Event though no more opening chores remained on the Delaware, I couldn’t help but take another run down that trail to enjoy this spectacular morning.

Snowbow

Recently a snowbow was visible for several minutes from the top of Elk Mountain.

All forms of precipitation were in the sky that day: rain, snow and sleet. By the time colors revealed, everything had turned to snow showers.

Later that night while lying in bed alone, I felt a presence in the bedroom. Spirits and deamons have visited before, but this sensation was different.

Soon I thought I was hearing voices. Not like a night the week before when similar sounds were identified by opening a window and confirming that the haunting voices were indeed a chorus of coyotes feeding nearby.

The wind continued to increase, sometimes enough to feel my centuries old wooden home shake.  Then, finally, the rumbles that could have been a truck traveling nearby, or an intruder trying to force entry downstairs, gave way to a sharp, resounding crack.

Night thunder and lightening during a snow fall!

Since then, the damp, anemic weather has given way to proper winter cold.  What I at first felt to be some kind of mystic presence was just a potent change in temperature and pressure.

Sometimes, unusual or dramatic episodes are just what it takes to get things back to normal.

 

 

 

Breakfast Date

An early appointment the day of the storm had me awake closer to daybreak than usual.

As I walked across the living room, I noticed that the leaves of the houseplant, that “found it’s window” several years ago were trembling.

Even though they calmed to stillness  when I stopped walking, I kept looking at the leaves.

I perceived that I saw them start to move again, growing, turning, yearning for pale dawn light.

Movement in the yard drew my eyes through the window, beyond the plant.

There, a sentinel doe draws attention from her young buck as they breakfast. His rack raw and white, velvet recently scraped, now ready for rut, ready for winter.

How much different can heaven be?