Tonight, we’re riding a ski lift to the top of a run at Deer Valley, Utah.  As they occasionally do, the lift stops for someone who has had difficulty getting on, and our chair rocks gently to and fro high above a snowy valley until it starts again and we continue our upward journey.

It is a brilliant day and somehow the blue sky is bluer from where we’re sitting.  The sun caroms off the freshly fallen powder below and our faces and arms show the beginnings of a tan. We pull up our safety bar as our unload point approaches and when it arrives we easily glide down the slope toward the start of our intended downhill.  We look at each other, smile, and slip on our goggles to ready ourselves, exchanging a peck on the lips before beginning our descent.  Our skis cut through the snow without issue as our speed increases.  The air feels fresh as it rushes past.  Aspens line both sides of the trail and boast a gold only they can muster.  Our legs ache now as we fight against the steepness of the hill and the fifteen minutes we’ve been at it, but it feels fine just the same.  Then you point to our right and we take a very narrow tree lined path to our cabin.  We laugh as we come to a stop and talk about the burn we feel in our thighs as we struggle to pop free of our skis.  The remainder of our evening is spent fireside with bowls full of chili and stacks of books for sharing and reading.