I took this winter's first ski trip yesterday. I just walked across the street and into the forest, making my own tracks in the knee-deep powder for an hour.
To avoid the many dog owners who walk on foot in the forest every day, I chose a route across a little swamp where no one walks in the summer. If I had made my tracks along the summer path, the dog walkers would ruin the tracks immediately. Instead, I try to set out in a direction that seems to make no sense, hoping that they won't make ugly deep footprints in my tracks.
Strange how the landscape changes when it's covered in snow. I thought I was taking an alternative route to a viewpoint on top of a hill, but suddenly I realized I was in the hillside below the point. That means I crossed the summer path somewhere, but I couldn't figure where.
It was beautiful out, all the trees covered in snow.
Today, my thighs are very sore from the unfamiliar use of muscles.
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life with the pvr: day seven
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