Postcards from the edge (of a lake)

Im not at the edge of many other things. This week, I am mainly at the edge of a lake.

It is a very nice lake. And it is surrounded by snow covered mountains, so that is very good for all my hearty snowsport-type friends, who can go and do hearty snowsports on them. (Apart from the one who shattered his leg doing the same thing last week (get better soon please, or at least do after next surgery on monday) not that that seems to put anyone off).

For me it is mainly good because there is a fire to curl up by and read, and a lot of sleeping that needs to be done (well, someone needs to do it, and everyone else seems to be busy, so I am helping out with that, I think). Also, there is snow. And I like taking pictures of snow, it turns out.


Also, I didnt grow up around very much snow, and have never in my life been on any kind of snow-based holiday, sporting or no. Consequently, I am still dealing with the concept of being around so much of the lovely lovely snow-like stuff like I am a very small child who has only heard of this volume of snow in books before. Which, to be fair, isnt far off.

I have been glad that my friends were all off doing serious snow-based hearty sports, as I think they may have mocked me for my snow-activities, which mainly involved:

– Snow angels.

– Tramping through the deepest drifts I could find

– poking things.

– marvelling

– frolicking.

– eating sliced meat.

– and cheese.

– also fish.

– Considering snowmen.

– taking pictures, as aforementioned.

– saying things that earnestsnowysport people would find probably boring and certainly moronic about how glittery snow is, and how consequently pleasing.

– Oh, and enjoying pointless things like sliding about on little patches of frozen lake. Like this:

Like a small child with a new toy.

I consider this the best possible use of my time this week.