A while back I was skiing along an irrigation ditch on the forest lands of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes near where I live in Montana.
The first part of my ski it was overcast and dark. I followed lines and circles in the ice for several miles.
When I turned to head back home, there were some breaks in the clouds and the late afternoon winter sun emerged.
On my return trip, as I skied along the ditch, the water way offered a completely different color palette to me and my camera—speaking to me of how elements are always part of one another—words of the moment, drawn in ice, wintered remains of plants, water, snow, sky…light.
While I am writing and reflecting on the these images, a fragment of a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye (“Snow” from Fuel), finds a landing place within me “How there can be a place/so cold any movement saves you” and I wonder, what is the movement that saves me? These moments when water and light speak and I get to listen? What is the movement that saves you?