Exiting my snowcave, I run with EXUBERANCE
I long for my mountain cabin …
I long to dance with the elements in the high country: the icicles, the bristle cone pine trees, the gentle slopes of sliding on skiis, the outhouse I run from in the distance
to the fire inside …
MY SNOWCAVE is “on your left” (as they say in Nordic races) in the side-wall of snow where an icicle hangs.