Creek Mist
In the depths of the winter, the mountains and valleys can be cold and unforgiving, but also magical.
It was one of those rare days when the skies of Aspen were overcast and gloomy—but I had a feeling it might also be one of those magical days when the atmosphere of the mountains would be palpable.
I had risen before dawn, put my trusty old truck into four-wheel drive and ventured up the ice and snow covered trail.
It had started snowing on the trail, which developed into a blizzard.
All of a sudden I skidded out and I landed in a ditch—I was stuck—alone with no cell service.
I waited it out in the truck, chiding myself for not bringing my assistant along (he was probably still snoring under a down duvet!).
Eventually, the whiteout started to ease up, and gradually my surroundings came into a blurry focus.
The mist started to clear, the melting drips punctuated the ghostly silence, and this was the scene before me—magical.
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