The sweat and sting of summer, and the memories of powdery, dusty singletrack and tall dewey grass are still fresh and vibrant in my mind. But the stark contrast of the here and now is awe-inspiring. The Wasatch mountains are full of fresh, white, pillowy snow. And the beauty of that winter coat is readily apparent. Everywhere the white and the peeking browns and greens of defiant tree and earth create a sort of dreamscape. Especially in the evening, when the sun sinks behind the horizon, defeated and dejected after yet another day and another futile and hopelessly optimistic attempt to melt the world below.

As the sun plunges out of site it cries out in a final, desperate gasp of color and light, painting the winter in unknown hues and shades. For a brief moment the world is at peace, and the only thing that matters is the cold air and the natural colorscape of a winter sunset in the rocky mountains.


Mill Canyon Peak. Wasatch Mountains.