Writers appreciate the unexpected, other than tragedy, costly expenses, illness, disputes with spouse, etc.  This past weekend I was up at Copper Mountain (ski area) to watch a young man race in a snow shoe competition.  It was a spark to my heart and soul as the young buck launched himself off the starting line.  I stuck around for the closing ceremony.  About six in the evening, I walked out to the ski slopes: surreal, beautiful, hauntingly still … snow accentuated by the light from a full moon; not a skier or snowboarder in sight. Â
Up on the mountain, a light … a small light … was piercing the twilight that happens after the sunset, but before the night settles in.  I took a picture with my cell phone.  And the light gradually came closer … Moments like these … standing alone with no one to hang out with, at the base of an immaculately groomed mountain, chair lifts suspended … are as if they belong to a dream.   The night was getting a bit darker, the snow was becoming a bit more luminous, and the only sign of life was a piercing, moving, light moving down the slope … 11,000 feet up a mountain.  Finally, the light became close enough for me to have a better understanding, of what I was looking at.  Â
Up on the mountain, the night mixes with the wind. Â Cold rides in with the wind. Â Let the light come, down the mountain. Â It brings joy, and it pushes back the darkness.