two sides of the same mountain

You are deep into winter. 

Over the last few weeks there have been enough warm days that you've found yourself trying to catch the scent of thawed earth, you flip dreamily through seed catalogs, and the back of your neck still remembers the feel of sunshine.

It is the last Tuesday in January and what you see are icicles, clouds, mountains of jacketsmittenshatsboots in the mudroom.  You take a deep breath.  You decide to own these last few weeks months of winter.  You put on this song because it makes you laugh and dance even while scrubbing crayon off the floor or giving the dog a bath after she rolled in something disgusting*.   You are going to squeeze every last bit of wintery goodness out before spring.  Hell yeah.

Your winter happyplace is the Grasshopper Valley.
Your mom is visiting from the islands and the two of you + kids head for the ski hill, the hot springs, the bluegold of winter sunshine.

Suddenly, the end of January is looking fantastic.

You come back home with snowwearied bodies,
tangled hair and soggy mittens. 
Your mom hugs you and heads south.
Until June.

By Sunday afternoon,
you are back in the mountains,
on the east side this time.
Faces tip toward the swirl
of blue sky, sharp wind,
and cloud.  It is just you
and mountains as far
as you can see.

*Serious business, this.
-Mike sledding down the road on our way home.  Where did I find this crazy man?-

*Thank you, Alli, for the song.
**Thank you, Mom, for helping me wash the disgusting dog.