Silent, still....and only one gunshot

After snowing all day, the hills around me metamorphosed from a land of verglace coated brown into a brilliantly white winter wonderland. Come evening, I picked Kim up and we headed to a dead-end up in the hills. We were immediately passed by a couple snowmobiles, but after their noise disappeared and we found oxygen again, the world was silent and still. Popping on our XC skis and headlamps (unfortunately, the lingering storm cloaked the moon light), we were on our way.

The next hour and a half simply included breaking new tracks in the half foot of powder. The only light came from our headlamps. The only sounds were our skis cutting through the snow and the rhythmic clicking of our poles. It was so quiet I could hear the small icy snowflakes patting my face. Until blisters began to develop, all I could think about was how simple it was cutting through the black world before me.

[We did hear one other noise, a muffled pop, a little past half way. In response to Kim jokingly speculating it was either an avalanche or gun shot, my response of, “It couldn’t be an avalanche,” accepted the fact that we both knew it was the latter, but neither of us were too willing to let ourselves think about it any further.]

One day I mentioned to Kim that I’ve never been the spiritual- and meditation-type. She figured long workouts are probably my form of mediation. While we loaded our skis back into the car, having only exchanged a few words over the last several hours, I couldn’t remember anything that I had thought about over the entire ski (other than blisters for the last little bit). In fact, I don’t think I was thinking about anything at all. I was simply cutting through the black world before me.

I guess we all have our own forms of mediation. I’m just glad that mine gets me out of the house on amazing nights like this. I also realize how fortunate I am to have friends that will go night skiing and running with me (the gun shot would have freaked me out much more if I was alone!).