The weatherman said that it might snow tomorrow, but the moose grazing in the alders knows better.
Their turns back down to the valley floor are louder, crustier than usual, but theyre safer too.
No avalanches unload on them, no cornices fall, prompting sympathetic slopes to fail.
Death still lurks in the snowpack but its buried deep.
Facets dance under feet of snow, marbles stacked beneath tons of water.
Theyve held out for over a month now, singing danger to anyone who dares delve too deep.
But theyre rounding back over now, slowly reversing the process that made them deadly.
Soon theyll be a nearly negligible risk, rarely triggered or considered.
The surface is another matter.
Tight crusts have edged in on sunny slopes, and each morning hoar crystals dance bigger in the sunrise.
They tinkle musically when a hawk disturbs them, swooping to terminate a squirrels scurry across the meadow.
Across the range the ski resort is waking up.
Patrol works the rope line, clearing frost and checking bamboo.
No bombs this morning, what can move has moved, now its all frozen solid.
The parking area is still nearly empty, secretly the paid parking attendant is glad.
Occasional skiers making the most of their days off.
The lift line on the bunny hill is long.
Snowmobile onesies line up behind Carhartt jackets and jeans.
On the magic carpet, a little girl is over it.
Shes bored, tired of standing on the slow moving belt.
Shes not done skiing, but shes done with this crap.
Its a great morning for her first chairlift ride.
In the terrain park one middle school kid hikes the down rail over and over again.
Hike it again to lock it in for good.
The pressure will remain high.
The moose will continue to gather calories in preparation for the next blizzard.
The hawk will gnaw on the squirrel carcass through the afternoon.
It will snow again soon.
For now though, the sun is out, and the snow is fast.
