come what winter
We love Fall. Probably more than ever before. The valley is blazing a crazy variety of hues, and every walk downtown brings about a chorus of crunching from beneath boots. I'm trying my best to soak it all in.
That being said... a part of me is already longing for thick blankets and the sharp air that shows breath. Boise has some time before winter arrives, but the mountains are well on their way.
It had been a few months since our last venture to those heights, and they were calling to me. So was a close friend who happens to live nestled among them. Add in the rare free weekend, and we were on our way in a heartbeat.
Sarah hikes every weekend, and on some weekdays too. She knows her way around. So, Saturday morning we gathered together a lunch, leashed her pup, and took to the trails.
This view met us not far down the trail. Each bend brought new scenes and made us scramble forward to the next. It was like reading a book with a cliffhanger on each page.
We stopped for a while when we reached the shore of the vast Payette Lake. It drizzled for most of the hike, and left all the colors deep and saturated. Well worth soggy locks, I'd say.
We stayed on the shore for quite a while- climbing rocks, throwing stones, and gazing out across the water with dropped jaws. The rawness of it all fed us and made us feel a bit wilder.
We finished our expedition at a lookout that felt like the top of the world.
Cocoa in hand, we just stood for a long time and said 'wow' a lot.
The view looked like God to me. Never-ending, mighty, and beautiful.
We left the mountainside after this. Our bellies and hearts were warm and full. There's nothing more to seek after that, really.
That night it snowed in the mountains, at 12 am on November first. We opened the back door of the cabin and I blindly snapped away with the flash on.
It was a perfect farewell. We came up for friendship, adventure, and a dash of winter. And that's exactly what we got- with a lot of cocoa mixed in.
Ryan and I said our farewells, and took to the road. Snow-laden timber faded into bright leaves as we got closer to home.
I keep looking at the messy photo of falling snow. It's what this coming season looks like to me. I can make out the shape of things, and the bits of bright ahead, but it's still blurry and a bit distant. I usually try to force the future into focus with detailed plans and formulas. But I'm going to work on letting the unknown be just that, and the future stay there. There's no use in grabbing thin air.
Come what may, come what Winter