Sunlight streamed through clouds and trees, and spun webs of shadow through the white woods. A fresh layer of crystals sparkled on top of the graceful drifts and glittered invitingly from the wide expanse of the ski trail. In dry winters, a sprinkling—or more—of pine needles and oak leaves often mar the ski trails and drift into the tracks. This year, storm after storm has buried them.
Which is why, as momentum swooped me around a corner and back uphill, a mess on the snow caught my attention.
