Stewart Falls this morning. Snowshoes. With a wonderful Kristen Metzger. 8:00 am.
Half way up the trail, the moment became religious in thought and lesson. The sun was blotted. You could look at it. Moon-like. A perfect white circle. If the fruit from the tree was lit like the paintings show, I imagine it looked like the source above us. There was silence. It came from the rocks and snow. Aspens had buds proving Mother Nature's hope in a day when she might thaw. To talk at this time was almost sacrilegious as it obstructed the other noise. In the silence there was a ring that one could hear. Almost like "Stewart" was singing to himself.
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