Windless. A gentle, powdery snow falling. Moonlight and cold have conjured the land into a silver, twinkling glitterscape. A camera can't capture this, I think, and try to savor the beauty.
We ski, trip, giggle, and then finally find our rhythm on the lit-with-lanterns trail, sip chocolate in the warming house, then ski some more and listen to the absent-minded river rushing rushing by.
We turn in our skis, tired, and on the way to the car my daughter says, "Do we have to go? It's so pretty!" Her eyes twinkle, silver breath circles her rosy face in the moonlight.
"Yes," I say, capturing this glitterscape that outshines the snow.
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