Ted and Nancy Johnson drove Matt and I to Oregon. We had a long day in Portland, and arrived at our hotel on the Columbia River just as the rain and sun set in. Nancy got it in her head that she wanted to find the alpaca farm for knitting yarn. The men were tired, but I'm always up for an adventure. We weren't sure if it would be open for business. It was late in the season and as we ended up taking the long road there, it was late in the day, too. Finally, after following sign after sign after sign, we knew we were close. We traveled through orchards and vineyards and golden fall foliage before we found the alpaca farm. It sat up and into the hills. With the elevation came an unexpected transformation. Rain turned to snow.
The memory of it all still takes my breath away. Each delicate flake was so defined I could almost discern its pattern from afar. Silence fell upon us as the sky powdered the tallest, straightest, evergreenest trees I had ever laid eyes on. Like feathers gently blessing every branch. We were blanketed in beauty and I thought to myself, I don't think I have ever seen anything quite so lovely in all my life. And yet, I had never expected snow to captivate me so. I love the sea. It's always been my muse. But here I was, lulled and rocked by another sort of wave. Snow sweetening every surface, frosting the world before me, bringing crystals to my eyes. I didn't want it ever to end.
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