The sky was the variety of vivid blue that only seems to exist at high altitudes. I had awakened to a fresh blanket of snow. Fog lay in the valleys as the sun rose pink out of its midst. The pine trees that encircled my cabin hideout were freshly flocked, the angled rays of the sun highlighting brilliant white on green. Spring in the Rockies. The previous night I had fallen asleep to the sound of rain on the roof and thunder rolling through the valleys. I now stood at the large windows with the mountains spread out before me and realized God is never finished painting his landscapes.
The crouching fog rose up, gaining momentum as it swallowed one peak after another. It rolled up the valley, advancing on my miniscule hideout. A thin white mist playfully wrapped around the cabin, diffused sunlight exposing its thin tendrils. As the fog thickened, the sun was no longer allowed to visit. Within minutes I was deep in the belly of the beast. Only the closest trees were visible. The air in the room seemed to grow cold.
I pulled on a hoodie, made a pot of coffee and settled in to watch the show. As I listened to the coffee dripping, the fog transformed. Heavy snow began to fall straight and fast as the fog dissipated. It was as if the cloud had solidified and was falling to the ground. The downpour lasted long enough for the coffee to fill the pot.
Indistinguishable wind began to swirl through the pines, now visible to the next ridge. A different kind of snow began to fall. Fine, soft flakes swirled through the air. The temperature dropped rapidly. A storm was coming. As the snow increased, the wind became more directed. It howled down off the ridges pushing waves of snow in front of it. The tall pines bent in submission, knowing their place.
I poured a mug of coffee, set the iPod to shuffle, picked up a new book and headed for a large chair. I considered building a roaring fire but at the moment my book was calling. Maybe during a good chapter break. I knew it was going to be a good day.