I call my wife Heidi Of The Mountains. When we first began
spending devoted time together about four years ago, we liked to hike
in the mountains, and she enjoyed it so much that when I looked at
her with her blonde hair as she hiked, I called her Heidi Of The
Mountains. The name stuck, and at times, she has insisted that is
what I must call her—Heidi. It is the only way I refer to her
A few days ago, we awoke to a fresh blanket of snow, with flakes
continuing to fall from the gray sky above. Not to be stopped, we
took our dog and snow shoes and drove along the blanketed road toward
the Santa Fe Ski Basin, into the mountains. We parked at a trail
head, and were completely alone. Our dog Gracie, immediately began
frolicking, thrilled to be in the winter wonderland. Indeed, we all
felt happy and lunged merrily into the magical woods. The snow
continued falling and the temperatures were below freezing, but we
were bundled in winter clothes, together by ourselves in the
wilderness, and in silence among the snow-laden trees of the forest.
Following a barely traceable trail, deeper and deeper we went . .
. the snow falling gently, everything shrouded in white, and serene.
The only sound was our feet crunching in the snow, and our voices as
we talked or laughed. Occasionally we would stop just to listen to
the silence. Nothing, broke the impasse, not wind in the trees or
bird song. Gracie would stop too, and listen.
At one point, Heidi Of The Moutains said, “My hands are cold,
are yours?” I replied, “I don't know, because I am so entranced
and happy, I only feel elation!”