Cross-country

We slip-glide the "Wildwood" on powder perfect trails.

Memories kaleidoscope and melt under the soft crunch rendering us but empty vessels to be filled with the present. 

All the while a low wind drifts snow from dry reeds revealing touches of green with the hope and promise of spring.

At a clearing the sun paints gray from distant trees into a silver waving praise against the deep blue. 

This shining network reaches for the universe seeming to release a simple message to echo on the wind.

This  moment was meant to be.

It always was; and it is right and good.

And just for a moment in this strange suspension, we believe we know it all or at the very least we know enough.