Trail Mix meets Peeps

This morning, surfing the easter services on the tele, I caught sight of the cross at Crystal Cathedral, composed entirely of white cala and trumpet lilies...stunning, actually. Easter-- the season of flowers, chocolate bunnies and marshmallow chicks...but as I drifted off to sleep last night I thought to myself that the best celebration of new life here in Tahoe isn't fresh lilies, tulips or dafodils. In Tahoe, more fresh snow than you knew could fall in the month of April might be the closest representation of a resurrection-- a resurrection of this heavenly mountain. Just show me rolling slopes of white, six inches of fluff on every exposed surface, mountain streams still flowing into snow rimmed basins...that's all the "he lives" I really need.

Today I spent five hours skiing in 1.5 feet of fresh snowy powder. Superb, a dream boat, like the perfect creme brulee, freshly whipped cream, white chocolate icing...
While I struggled to find my powder legs, I marveled at how much like floating this sort of skiing is. Dad said, "Yeah, I guess it's pretty much like a controlled free fall." As I crested yet another peak, persistent gale now at my right, egging me on over the edge, I sequestered the nagging negative voice to the shadows of my mind and slipped down into the freshly fallen blanket. One thing I learned today-- really I already knew, I suppose-- looks are often deceiving. An unsullied covering of white, no tracks, no one around...but once you fall through to yesterday's snow, there's no telling what sort of legs you'll need.

A delicate balance between forward and back, finding the fall line, seeking a groove and pumping those knees up and down, the day was full of challenge and success, new experiences and failures. All in a day's work? In a day's skiing, perhaps.

The last 12 hours have been snowy, and I have spoken words of amazement more than any others.
"This is unbelievable."
"Un - Real."
"I can't believe this."
"Out of control, that's what this is."
"You've got to be joking."
"And it hasn't let up-- at all?"
Redundant, I know. But it feels so good to be reminded that you can still be surprised, shocked out of your skin, even as the norm carries you through each day. Looking back to yesterday I realize I can't remember the last time I was truly amazed. Without watching, without wonder, white can just be flat and dull, hazy and unclear. With the amazement and wonder of hope fulfilled, it can be dazzling, pure and lighter than the highest cloud. And now, as I take my powdered out legs to bed, there's a lightness that accompanies me, a shiny memory, a revitalized hope, no longer weighty, but a spring beneath my step.