I remember this magical day when the clouds came down, billowing veils of snow draping the sill of the horizon, the blustery face of a storm chiseled from swirling shrouds of ice, dust, and wind. An endless procession of snow-cells paralleled our path, their present, past, and future ours in a glance. Moments of pure grace in our space at the bottom of the sky.
Text by Charles S. Pinzino
Photography by F. Lee Cornelison