First Snow

When people talk of their favorite time of year, my mind wanders to the mountains, to that first snow fall when the trails undergo a metamorphosis. Lost beneath a heavy blanket of fresh snow the trails take on a new beauty. The woods become quieter and there is a stillness in the air. It's as if the mountains go into hibernation. Waiting until spring for warmer temperatures to melt the snow and bring life back to their slopes.

It is this time of year, this first snow, that I anxiously await. As summer slowly turns to fall and leaves finally start to disappear from the branches of the trees, I know we are close. When the temperature starts to drop towards freezing I find myself waking early each morning and looking towards Moscow Mountain, waiting to see is grandeur hidden by falling snow. 

And when those first flakes do start to fall, I'm ready. Ready to run the trails. To be apart of the magical metamorphosis that is occurring. To say goodbye to the mountain until it awakes again in the spring and welcome the peace and serenity that winter brings to the mountains.