My new winter

The nearest ski resort is 2.8 hours from my house in San Diego and the beach is 3 minutes. (Time calculations courtesy of google maps) I don't take for granted my proximity to the beach, I fall asleep with my window open so I can smell the sea salt. Yet, I miss my home state mountains this time of year.

Flipping through winter pictures has me reminisce of the early morning winter months. I'd wake up well before sunrise, stumble to my toothbrush, disapprovingly glance at my disheveled hair and over-packed bags, saddling my nose and skirting my eyes.

Mountain gear in tow, me and company would be off to an elevation of 4,500 feet. The snow muddied tire tracks guiding all who trekked to find solace in the quite of the white and the still of the timbers. Between moments of pivots, carves, and bombing down the hill, the crisp air would have my full attention. Like clock work, by the length of the sky I'd be reminded  that the earth's inhabitants are positioned high up on this massive rock rotating in space. The mountain's girth and height speak of this world's greatness and how magnificent life is. We are so small and so mighty.

Our San Diego house was  home to a 5' Christmas tree. A year ago I would have thought it strange to have a Christmas tree in a house beside the ocean  that keeps its windows open in December. This year it's not odd to have spent the winter holidays in San Diego. Not until the  moments I can almost feel the chill of the snow, hear the quiet crisp of the mountain air, and taste the the thin air from the elements cupped by the mountains. It's those moments I miss the effort it took to plan even a simple outing to meet friends for dinner or coffee. 


Whatever the season, winter, spring, summer, or autumn, it's always my favorite one. Thanks for sharing each season my dear friends. To many more!


I love you.


Xox,
Sarah