A long time ago at the outbreak of a confusing contagion, the foothills were pummeled by a big, spring snow. The morning after, Elk Meadow was interred in an arctic valley of ice.
Dawn had broken clear and cold as the storm quickly dissipated, revealing the faint contour of Bergen Peak. Frosted pine decorated the hillside, windswept drifts choked the gulch and strong sunlight resulted in an effect of phenomenal light.
The moody, gray sky was stubborn and it would not submit to the comfort of clarity for long. Foretelling desperate times ahead, the temperamental weather sullied the already dark mood.
The restless clouds were constantly shifting shapes, creating an unsettled panoramic vignette that tempered any sense of optimism. They converged and closed back in, crushing a hopeful spirit while erasing the skyline from view.
A second wave steam-rolled over the pass and we suffered the foreboding atmosphere in silence. Blue skies had made a brief appearance leading us to believe the storm was over but as the clouds reconvened, we discovered that it was really just beginning.
|Pummeled by snow|
|Arctic valley of ice|
|Blue skies over Bergen Peak|
|A hopeful spirit|
|A dark mood|
|A foreboding atmosphere|
|Spring snow in the foothills|
|A decorated hillside|
|It was just beginning|
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