A Winter Storm

This morning at the cabin

The cabin I rented for ten nights

I drove a thousand miles and eight thousand feet above the ordinary to be here.  Like one born to be blown delicately in the breeze, an aspen leaf, I accepted risks as they seemed—mishap on a high and rocky trail, sudden thunderstorm, an early winter snow—as I flutter a short time, then after fallen yellow glow, leave the stem with all the rest, naked for winter as a slender white aspen.  

I did not expect the road closed, except perhaps for weather, nor officers posted at the trailheads issuing tickets to trespassers.  One of the risks that I did fear came last night in nearly a foot of snow, which may have closed the road through the park for the season.  

I hiked back to where some of the pictures from those three sunny days had so entranced me.  Here you see before (left) and after (right) the storm, actually before and during the storm, because snow fell all day today and is still falling.

The storm is expected to end by noon tomorrow, so perhaps the next day I can get into the wilderness of Arapaho National Forest, where rangers are not turning hikers away.