This past week has been so crazy-busy that I feel like I crashed headlong into a wall of pillows now that I've got nothing to do. Arriving in Connecticut with a snowstorm in tow is a pretty effective change of pace. Most nights last week were spent literally dashing downtown to uptown and vice versa and now I am finding myself just plodding up and down the stairs, mulling over which hot beverage best suits the hour (coffee, tea, cocoa, tea), and trying to lure the dog onto my lap.
Earlier this evening my Dad and I went skiing, after the sun went down, on the airline trail. The moon had lit the sky to a suffused orange point, and it reflected off the snow enough to silhouette his figure and exposed parts of tree branches; the only other things out there as far as I could tell. I don't imagine there is any better way to clear your head than glide through a cold still trail layered with silence and whiteness.
The picture above is from this website, which has years of beautiful pictures from the Hebron section of the Airline Trail.
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