Merrily whooshing along the luge-like path on back country skis, over the meadow and through the woods, the snow is falling, with blue skies peaking out now and then.
We wind through the trees where you can hear the silence, and then the distant rush of the river.
Follow along the banks of the river before meandering back into the woods, up over a ridge, then the view opens up to the valley below, mountains standing sentry in the background.
The coal black textured bark stands out starkly against the pure white softness of the snow. Fellow New Year's revelers, just a few, pass with a smile and a "Happy New Year!"; and then a jubilant hug with a chance encounter of some dear friends. Our town may be growing, but it is still a small town.
A late start begs to ask if we should attempt the extra mile to the waterfall. It's so beautiful, there's no turning back. We crisscross over the river on hand-hewn snow covered foot bridges.
I'm thankful not to have to pull off my skis and traverse the stream, possibly post-holing thigh deep on the river bank ~ brrrrrr.
You hear the roar before you see it. It's flowing, but there is a crystalline appearance that makes you wonder if there is a sheet of ice encasing the flow. Last week there were ice climbers, but with the warming of temps, a balmy 20 degrees today (that's Fahrenheit not Celsius mind you), none were at it today.
Step back, soak it all in. It's a new year, 2017, but this fall has been here for ages. In all seasons its beauty is eternal.
We must hurry back, as twilight settles in, blue light with pinkish hue reflecting off the snow, then the glow of the welcoming lodge. January 1st, 2017 has begun in a most magical, glorious way. I am ever grateful.
Happy New Year, everyone. All the best for 2017.
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