February Storm

A low ceiling of dark clouds hid the mountains that rose up in front of us. Their hard edge told us that we would find snow as we climbed into the fog. Ground was soaked from two days of steady rain, and the canyons ran fast with chocolate runoff. Crossings would be dangerous with the current and the debris rushing against our legs. Most everyone else was home in front of a fireplace watching the Olympics with a cat on their laps. This was elective discomfort, and earned us nothing other than the camaraderie of shared suffering. Roll on he said. Roll on. Try not to slip and fall onto the ubiquitous rocks.