I came home to the making of a winter wonderland. The long, gray light of dusk and a storm approaching seeped through the plane’s windows as we touched down in Denver. Rain on the drive to Boulder turned to snow by the end of dinner. By the time I curled my weary body between the flannel sheets, large heavy flakes had coated the trees and ground with a wet, sticky sheath of white. I could think of no better welcome home. The snow continued to fall through Wednesday and into Thursday. Trees that still clung to their leaves bowed to the weight and broke, including my peach tree. (Although, it should be noted that no Toyota Prius’ were injured in its sad and lonely descent.) By Thursday a couple feet of snow left the air crisp and muffled the usual sounds of civilization. As I walked to the store on a quiet back street, I marveled at the soft, clean, achromatic world that had been created at the end of October. The Flatirons rose proudly with their thick, alabaster cloak against the dark night sky as a somewhat foreign thought passed through my mind: ‘I love my life.’

--- home in the morning light ---

photo thanks to K. Harper