Winter Memory

I sketched this for Hub.  It's a dear recent memory.  Cross country skiing is my sanctuary in the darkest days of the year.  It offers a compelling excuse to get outside and feel the blood coursing through my veins in the winter.  I'm no athlete, but I was raised on these skis.  My family is very outdoorsy, and skis offer an exhilarating answer to the question: How to get about in the snow?  Glide along the top, hot from the effort and cold from the wind on your face.  No need for groomed trails.  Break your own through the forest and take off along the frozen river where the only other tracks belong to coyotes.  

What a treat to share this with Elsie!  She giggled for the first half mile straight, then hushed up and concentrated on her cold little toes until we turned around and pulled her back to a roaring fire and a mug of hot chocolate.  

The snow melting outside my window is the last of winter.  (Hopefully the last of spring, too.)  I welcome the warm sun that is shining its way back into my mornings and evenings.  I am ready for those buried crocuses and for the daffodils, ready for leaves and my garden.  So very ready for the seasons of warmth and light.  Yet I'm not one to scorn the winter.  The snow was such a gift this year.