Two storms in two days, and in preparation for the second storm and the predicted dump of another foot of snow, the state more or less shut down. David and I decided early to get out into the storm for a ski, then come home to get our work for the day done. The snow was falling thick as we set out on the trail to the west of the house, blowing into us across the open fields, making the world a hazy grey. It was hard to get any sense of depth or direction as snow swirled around us. Our skis were lost under the deep snow. Our hats and neck warmers crusted as snow melted from our body heat, then froze again.
Once the trail headed into the woods, the black of wet pine trunks and the green needles showing dark against their loads of snow provided contrast that gave the world around us depth. The snowmobile trail had been tracked through the woods, probably last night after the first storm, and our skis started to appear again out from under the snow. The trail took us across several roads, up the power lines, then up over a ridge draped with hemlocks and tall white and red pines. We crossed the stream pouring out of Durgin Pond, rocks capped with great domes of white against the black water.
The storm was cold and glorious and windy and wild and we skied right through it. Lovely. We came home and were able to catch our neighbor before he finished plowing, moving our cars out of the way so he could pile up the snow from the whole driveway. Facing the five foot wall of snow between the driveway and the house, all that was left was figuring out how to get to the door.