Peaks of sunlight; troughs the colour of brushed pewter. That's what the snow looked like late this afternoon. Out in the open, the wind had whipped snow into mighty boulders that stood stalwart in the middle of the fields, like half finished snowmen made by giant children; like a wintry version of Ozymandias, King of kings.
We skied diagonally from the north east corner, skirting the river, up to the south west corner, tracking the scratchy claw marks of wild turkey, some bunny tracks, and a pack of canine paw prints that could only mean one thing: coyotes. They must be camped out in the southern tree line, but we haven't heard them this winter. Perhaps they have other prey.
The dog leaped like she was eight years younger; the skis scraped across the diamond ice surface; and the sun dipped on the horizon, turning the world a dusky shade of blue.
A perfect afternoon.