She raises her face into the swirl of wet snowflakes and smiles. Alone in a sloppy snowstorm, she can’t help but leave the unspoken morning grumpiness in her cabin behind. The snowdrift melts away beneath her snowshoes when she stops. A perfect temperature for leavening the air with the scent of Sitka spruce.
She begins to wonder about the source of her husband’s truculence, but a posse of silent gray jays arrests her attention when they swing into a tree above her. They look expectant. She shakes water from her jacket, grins at them and continues on down the drainage.