With each warm spring day another snow season melts into the Alpine Lakes and Streams. The sky dropped several feet of the coldest smoke in the Rockies in our backyards this year and we have all enjoyed the gift.
This lift lines grew at our local hills, the subaru's stacked in the parking lots like cordwood, each with some grasp at being from here...12 month mountain bikes on the yak-rack, a lonesome dog in the back, and peace signs in the windows. Their efforts to mask their true origin foiled by the out of state license plates.
Their cars lined the pass highways, each one hosting a trust fund explorer. They gathered at our watering holes but did not drink from the holy grail, lost souls searching for a place to belong. They boasted of first chair, and fresh tracks....always the loudest in the room. They wrote books and penciled maps, each one boasting and basking in second place glory.
Long before they arrived, we skied the lines they lay claim to...humbly.
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