Winter met us in Spokane. It was cold, then colder. The mountain got a great start and we skied pow the first week of December. Then it got warm and stayed cloudy. The snow melted and the streets dried out. I went on a bike ride. I thought Spokane might have a secret cloud cover that never went away.
Then the sun came out. We went to the river. No one was there because it was cold. The trails were melted out and there were great blue heron and mallard ducks and beavers.
The swinging bridge above the rapids was sitting in a sliver of winter sun. It was warm and shiny and smelled like old railroad ties. You could feel the cold air coming off the river and mixing awkwardly with the sun warmed pines. Back in the tress, leaving the river, we dodged puddles of black ice, and it was bitter cold. The sun had gone down.