Here and now is 65 degrees and raining. Here and now is a winter that never really happened. Meanwhile, I have one buddy skiing waist deep powder in Japan and another headed to British Columbia where they’re counting their powder in feet, not inches.
One thing I’ve learned from several years of skiing at Breckenwolf every Wednesday night with a bunch of middle aged dudes who may or may not be taking nips of whiskey between runs, is that it’s really hard to wrestle with skis on.
Eventually, if you ski consistently enough, you come to a Zen-like sense of understanding that there really aren’t any bad days on the hill. Because you’re skiing in the South. And that alone is a kind of miracle.