no two snowflakes are alike

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I woke up this past Saturday morning with my truck adorned with snowflakes.  Like stickers pressed up against the black paint, only temporary.

Someone opened up their home to me without meeting me first.  Doesn’t that exceed a deal with only a handshake?

A Mason Jar of homemade peaches awaited my arrival on the kitchen table that he had made himself.  He left me cross country trail maps, handwritten notes of local restaurants and the best coffee shop to visit.

My motivation for this mini getaway was to cross country ski on some of the best trails in the U.S. but my most favorite moments didn’t involve skis at all.  It was hearing the owls in the nearby trees while I was photographing the stars late at night.  It was feeding the hens and holding their freshly laid eggs in the palm of my hand.  It was having a cat kneed on my lap like he had known me for years and looking through a television screen in a window framing the best view.  Now that’s good T.V.

You wonder, what could possibly beat the rolling hills and the mountains dusted with powdered sugar in the Methow Valley?  The people.

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