If you have real estate lust in your hearts like we do, the above Miss December "pin-up" should be enough to quicken your pulse, initiate slow, deep breaths, and a tingling sensation that ripples up and down your spine. If only we could look so provocative on our 118th birthday.
Lovely Ouray was dusted with another 8 inches of snow overnight; the second in a series of storms lined up in the Pacific and forecasted to feather the Mountain West with snow and bedew the Desert Southwest with rain.
I love the way normal town noise—wheels on pavement and gravel and such—is temporarily hushed after a fresh snow. Low winter sun shines brightly, intensified with endless reflections and ricochets; acoustical perfection.
So, Bobbie and I slipped on boots and gators to see if we could post-hole our way up Oak Creek Trail, a steep, south facing serpentine that tests legs and lungs even in fair weather. A few will think that we are sadomasochistic gluttons enslaved by some geographical dominatrix with whips and chains. I believe it has more to do with child-like curiosity, the wondering of what it would be like to stand way up in the tippy-tops of a tree or on a mountain summit—or to wade knee-deep snow, through woods on a snowy morn.
|Our hillside Mine Shack, overlooking Lovely Ouray|