Sometimes, usually after maybe our third month of intense snow during the winter, or when it snows in late April, I forget how really beautiful it is here in northern New York. Even the snow is beautiful, lying quietly on a brisk and hushed night, fat flakes falling from the darkness. And then spring comes, and then early summer, and we're driving along on our way to have a Saturday night Japanese dinner in Syracuse and Clint pulls over to the side of the road because we've just spotted an amazing cleft of rock and a waterfall. And I hop out of the car and take a picture of it. A few days later, I download it onto my laptop and open it full-sized on the screen, and I remember.
Yes. It's so beautiful here.
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