I drove my car through the trees, weighted heavy with snow. I do love the West more than I could tell you and I am learning, for the first time in 22 years, to love the snow. These were things that I thought as I twisted the wheel all the way down to my second family's cabin, nested in the Tetons. We made pizza from scratch with basil, mozzarella and tomatoes. We picked xc skis from the beams above the stacks of logs, set to keep the wood stove going. Their cabin has Tibetan prayer flags hanging in the kitchen, pots and pans stacked and loaves of homemade bread ready to eat. I always feel like I'm coming home when I'm there.
I learned about crab fishing and sailing. We watched a moose watch us from the willows. We went snowshoeing through the deep snow until the top of a ridge, where the sun was setting behind the mountains. I went walking early in the morning when the fog was rising on the Snake River and watched the dark water move like heartbeats. I left this morning, but only after I sat at the top of a hill, staring straight at the Grand Teton and watched the sun come over the horizon behind me and turning the Tetons pink and yellow with morning.
Things are good here.