mapadu
New member
Above the quiet of a cozy little neighborhood sits a shack that once sat vacant for years and years. Sometime and someplace outside of 19th century Breckenridge, it was headquarters for a minor mining operation. Silver or gold or something else was carted out of a deep shaft behind the cabin, which was renovated some years ago. Propane tanks, plumbing and grills show signs of something old, something new, and something long since abandoned.
Chewed insulation and marmot matter litter the floor now, along with a comfy couch, a recliner and hand-drawn topo maps curled up like posters. A clock radio still keeps time, though it?s losing minutes every day. Its nine volt battery is fading, much like the stained wood walls outside. The whole scene seems stuck in place where time stands still, and only the weather changes anything.
There are stories it could tell, to be sure, but lately it only sees skiers in passing. Up and down, through thick and thin, they stroll on by. Panting from their hike, and grinning from their experience in the bowl above.
Gullies form below the bowl, connecting and spilling to a creek bed, filled in and frozen over.
Red rocks are covered in white, lodgepole pines are omnipresent, and so is utter silence. Sporadically, people and dogs make their way through.
http://www.uvm.edu/skivt-l/image_upload ... 190603.avi
Quaint little houses greet descenders back into a world where time ticks unhurriedly.
Upon return to the neighborhood, hard-packed snow covers a maze of dirt roads. Green circle groomers with occasional oncoming traffic lead the way home between high-rising snowbanks, right-of-way skintracks, and the smell of burning wood crackling from chimneys and stovepipes.
It?s a Norman Rockwell painting in 3-D. A cool corner of the world to call home.
It?s mine to share, and it?s beautiful.
Chewed insulation and marmot matter litter the floor now, along with a comfy couch, a recliner and hand-drawn topo maps curled up like posters. A clock radio still keeps time, though it?s losing minutes every day. Its nine volt battery is fading, much like the stained wood walls outside. The whole scene seems stuck in place where time stands still, and only the weather changes anything.
There are stories it could tell, to be sure, but lately it only sees skiers in passing. Up and down, through thick and thin, they stroll on by. Panting from their hike, and grinning from their experience in the bowl above.
Gullies form below the bowl, connecting and spilling to a creek bed, filled in and frozen over.
Red rocks are covered in white, lodgepole pines are omnipresent, and so is utter silence. Sporadically, people and dogs make their way through.
http://www.uvm.edu/skivt-l/image_upload ... 190603.avi
Quaint little houses greet descenders back into a world where time ticks unhurriedly.
Upon return to the neighborhood, hard-packed snow covers a maze of dirt roads. Green circle groomers with occasional oncoming traffic lead the way home between high-rising snowbanks, right-of-way skintracks, and the smell of burning wood crackling from chimneys and stovepipes.
It?s a Norman Rockwell painting in 3-D. A cool corner of the world to call home.
It?s mine to share, and it?s beautiful.