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Fresh Snow  Our story tonight is called Fresh Snow and it’s a story about time spent outside as the flakes fall. It’s also about a late night bath, a peppermint stick in a cup of hot chocolate and the easy comfort of long held friends. Fresh snow had fallen overnight. Another 3 or 4 inches of the light, fluffy kind. And while it couldn’t be packed into a snowball or rolled to stack one on top another with a carrot nose and twig arms, it was really lovely to kick through with winter boots or stride across with snowshoes or slide over with a pair of freshly waxed skis. In fact, I’d spent the day before trekking in my snowshoes with friends on a long trail that wound through the woods and beside a frozen lake. We’d stopped every now and then to catch our breath and take in the shades of white and blue and icy dark grey that lay in layers on the landscape. At the edge of the lake whose surface was streaked and marbled with brighter, thicker layers of ice like a shining clear granite, I’d noticed the upturned stems of Queen Anne’s Lace. The petals had fallen away months ago but the stems and woody veins remained and now held tiny pockets of fresh snow like wine in a glass. Though the day was cold, the steady push of my legs and pull on my poles had kept me plenty warm and I’d loved the feeling of cool air on my cheeks as we made our slow progress through foothills and bare brush back toward the ski lodge. We’d followed the long walk with an equally long lingering rest around the fire place in the lodge. It was a cozy space, lined with brick and stone, tall windows that looked out at the slopes and old worn wood floors. The ceilings were high with knotty beams running the length of the room and the fire was sunken in a pit with soft benches all around. We’d unbundled from our coats and hats and gloves and met up there for hot drinks. I’d propped my feet in their insulated socks up on the brick surrounding the fire, and let out a deep, contented sigh. My friends chatted about the things we’d seen on our walk. The long, low profile of a fox, its ruddy brown fur standing out against the white as he glided through the trees, the bubbles caught in the surface of the lake and tiny dots high up on the slopes cutting a smooth zig zag down the mountain. A tray of drinks arrived. Coffees and cocoas and toddy’s with sweet, strong smelling steam rising off of them. I’d ordered a hot chocolate and it came with a peppermint stick which slowly melted into the chocolate as I stirred. It had been a pleasure just to sit and listen to my friends as they talked. It was something I valued more as I got older. Friends I could just quietly be with. I didn’t need to talk or push the moment forward. We were all just happy to be around each other. We’d happily read books shoulder to shoulder on the sofa for an hour or watch an old movie ‘till someone fell asleep and someone else covered them up with a blanket. It was a good place to be in your life. When you realized you didn’t need to prove anything to the people you were sharing your time with. You didn’t need to be clever or have a joke to tell. Just showing up as yourself was enough. That night after the fire had died down, after we trooped off to dinner and sleepily to our rooms, I’d run a hot bath for myself. My muscles were well worked from our snowshoeing and a good long soak sounded just right. As the water filled the tub, I’d trailed in a good amount of Epsom salts. I smiled to myself in the dark room. It seemed a sign I was definitely getting older when packing for a weekend away I’d been sure to bring Epsom salts and peppermint oil for sore muscles. Well that was fine by me. Getting older seemed to me just another way to say .. making friends with yourself. I turned off the water and set a towel by the tub. I left the room dark. There was a window which seemed oddly placed up high on the opposite wall, but once I’d slid down into the water I saw that it was perfectly aligned for gazing out at the mountain from the tub. That’s when it had started to snow. I had been watching the moment the first flakes formed and fell. The whole world seemed quiet as it came down. The wind kicked up a bit and I watched as small cyclones of whirling snow spun, until they spun themselves out. At last with my fingertips turning pruney in the water, I drained the tub and wrapped myself in a thick robe. When I climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over my shoulder, I imagined my friends were all well into their dreams by now. The snow kept falling through the night and when I woke up today I’d seen those fresh 3 or 4 inches. We met back up around the breakfast table and agreed today would be for skiing. The lodge made their own homemade granola, toasted oats, cinnamon and walnuts and I filled my bowl with it adding a sliced banana and coconut milk. We ate hearty to carry us through the morning on the slopes and soon we were zipping back into our gear and clicking our skis into place. I had come late to skiing and my first season I’d taken lessons, cautiously juttering down tiny hills as 6 year olds blazed past me, shouting encouragement. Since then I’d figured out that the more I relaxed, the less rigidly I held myself on the skis, the smoother the ride would be. It still took me a few runs to settle into a rhythm. Soon I was gliding from one run to another, feeling the fresh air rush past me and pulling it deep into my lungs. My friends and I would sometimes catch up with each other and race to the bottom or ride the chair lift up. I loved watching the chair lift climb, the swinging legs of excited little ones against the blue sky as we headed up to do it all over again. I knew we would make our way up and down until we had thoroughly worn ourselves out. And followed up just as we had yesterday with feet up in front of the fire and hot chocolate and a good dinner. And then I could have another bath and another long look out of that window and another nights deep sleep. Nothing Much Happens |
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What a lovely read~~~ 
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This will probably be my last post of the year so let me take this opportunity to wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a joyous and prosperous New Year. See you again in 2024.
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What a lovely read~~~
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Great story ! Great memories. I Love hot chocolate and peppermint sticks ! Sometimes I put whipped cream on top too
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Great story ! Great memories. I Love hot chocolate and peppermint sticks ! Sometimes I put whipped cream on top too Merry Christmas Star! Thanks for the comment.
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What a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing it with us. Wishing you and yours a very Happy Christmas.
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What a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing it with us. Wishing you and yours a very Happy Christmas. I’m happy you enjoyed the story. I enjoy sharing them with all of you as well. More to come in 2024. I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with bright and beautiful adventures. May prosperity fill your life now and for always!
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A nice read Indigo. It reminds me of my days of living in Alberta and growing up in a rural area when I was a child. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
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A nice read Indigo. It reminds me of my days of living in Alberta and growing up in a rural area when I was a child. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Being from Alberta myself, I totally get what you mean. Rural Alberta is perfect for picture taking in the winter especially if you enjoy driving down the backroads to find those frosty photos. Here’s wishing you a Christmas filled with the love of friends and family and a New Year that brings you all your heart desires.
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