Snowy days

“Marvelous,” I quietly mumbled as I reminisce about my winter holiday in Aspen.

Serrated mountains, with tiaras of powdery snow crowning their crests, loomed in the distance. Serpentine tracks of short bushes and berries trailed us into the sprawling wilderness. Skittering squirrels and dancing deer sashayed in search of food as we made our way to the base camp. The crisp smells of pine needles and wildflowers wafted to our nose. We ventured into the local markets and scissored past the crowds of people dressed in heavy fleeces. The tantalizing whiff of charcoal-grilled beef with hot stew encompassed us in its earthy warmth.

After a delightful meal, we again travelled through the labyrinth of slithering lanes that led us to the vibrant bequest of this beautiful village, the flower valley. Flowers of all colors and sizes, from champagne yellow to amethyst purple, lightly tossed with the gentle breeze, as though dancing sprightly. A scent of fresh posies and roses, with undernotes of lilac and lily of the valley, smelt like a favorite perfume of nature. The auburn sun was now veiled by thunderous clouds that rolled over the chalk-white plains.

The rain hammered down on the asphalt as we hurried towards shelter. All music from the cafes was drowned into the melancholic wailing of the rain. Enticed, I walked in the rain and felt calm as soon as the cold water kissed my skin. A chilling wind sawed at my clothes, but the temptation of peace was such that I continued wandering aimlessly through the boulevards and avenues that finally led me to my hotel. Although the cold I caught later was awful, this memory will always be etched in my heart.