Frosted Footprints - White River National Forest, CO

Last week, I set out for a hike in White River National Forest just before sunset. Stepping out of my rental, I adjusted my boots and smoothed the wrinkles in my second layer of leggings, snug over my fleece-lined ones. I hadn’t checked the temperature before making the drive—with only a couple of hours of daylight left and a brutal workweek ahead, I didn’t care how cold it was. I just knew it was the coldest day of the year.

The air was sharp and crisp as I ascended the mountain, my breath visible in the fading light. I stopped occasionally to snap pictures, pausing to take in the way the snow glistened over the frozen water below. The loop around the mountain peak was breathtaking. With each crunch of snow beneath my boots, the sting on my face grew harsher, even beneath my beanie and hood. Flurries swirled around me as I made my way back to the car, carried by the wind like tiny whispers of winter.

As I breathed in the frost and wonder around me, I smiled at the mountains in the distance, where the sun was offering her final goodbyes. Soon, I was back in the driver’s seat, blasting the heat and pulling up directions to my hotel. As warmth returned to my face, I pulled off my hat and hood, running my fingers through my hair, breaking apart the clumps where snow had landed and frozen. I didn’t realize it was that cold, I thought.

Reaching for my camera, I noticed a thin layer of frost coating its surface. I wiped it off but decided to let it warm up slowly, afraid of damaging it. Curious, I asked Siri for the temperature.

“Minus five degrees.”

The answer surprised me, and as I pulled away from the forest, an unexpected laugh bubbled up from deep within. A little girl—lost and alone but full of wonder—had managed to fix another broken piece.