Two burly days, heaved with heat, came out of nowhere and broke the back of winter. From knee-deep to bare ground over a handful of following days, the landscape collapsed in a time lapse of melting snow.

I unfastened my seatbelt, switched my phone off airplane mode and texted him, We’ve just landed!

I remember this day so well. We’d taken a hike down by the river, the boys and I.

The river was gentle now, and calm, skimming over rocks, burbling between boulders, taking its wandering time

I didn’t think there was time. The afternoon was already closing in and passing by, the weekend waning fast.

We sliced a section right out of the middle of life, and escaped to autumn in the mountains of northwest Montana, my original home.

The relative quiet of the Ojai valley was so welcome after the thrumming energy of LA.

Life is interesting, isn’t it? How timing and events, curious circumstances and appointments unaware, can come together in a beautiful chronology that you couldn’t have planned if you’d tried? 

I knew they’d be coming soon. They’re always first to bloom, the first to crack from winter’s shell.

The shadows of pines notched the edge of the meadow; the expanse of snow, like a bowl in its middle, was creamy-white in the moonlight.

It’s true. January might be my favorite month (ah, yes, until October comes…)