Today there is a blue sky against a white mountain when I look out the window to the east. Some days there is no mountain at all, only a haze of low clouds that buries the view in a wet gray funk. Other days, the mountain might have no snow at all, or a dusting that reveals the prevalence of deer trails on the mountain like veins under skin.
Sometimes we see life better in inclement weather. I can see who or what passes my house when snow prints are left on the sidewalk: human, dog, deer, raccoon. These are the adventurers, the scavengers, the prowlers, the lonely. Sometimes I wonder if snow prints even exist in pairs.
Paragliders are often seen overhead, launching off the mountain and coming to a landing just blocks from my house. Today, a lone paraglider hovered beneath a blue parachute, floating mid-sky as if it were summer, as if there was no reason to rush its flight, as if the cold didn’t exist.
I watched it tilt and descend, approaching the earth of snow and trees and men. Sometimes I wonder if the sky is its own footprint, telling us during our loneliest days that we have company.