I got up into the mountains this weekend for a little outing. The snow was crazy fluffy for this part of the world, the sort where even on snowshoes I was up to mid-thigh sometimes and if I wasn’t on the established trail, I was certainly making knee-deep plumes of powder. And all the while more giant flakes were floating down, adding to the impossible drifts precariously piled on every branch. It was awfully charming, really, but as you can see, it wasn’t the sort of day where you escape to bluebird skies up high. Which wasn’t terribly surprising but was still a little disappointing, because this is what it looks like outside right now:
And while I just ran out the front door and snapped that, it kind of feels like that is exactly how it has looked forever. And will for all eternity. And I know it’s not true but it’s December and for the love of all things bright and shiny… it’s gray.
And tomorrow we head out to the coast for a few days. Where this is the forecast:
Do you see all those spiky yellow sun icons? I’m still blinking each time I look at that, so foreign and dazzling it is. I like the beach in winter, but that’s usually for its moodiness and its relative unpopularity and the general change of scenery from my home cave. But sunny?! I like that kind of omen for a new year.