Numazawako, the volcanic lake whose balmy waters we swam in all summer, has finally shown its teeth. Waves like little steel blades rushing straight at you, with the kind of snow cloud bearing down from the mountains and advancing across the water that looked designed to bear a ghost ship. You can't beat a spot of weather, though it can often beat you.
Running through the woods I stopped to hear the quiet.... and noticed that the first days of snow had formed dappled patches, in the same way that midday sun would, as if it had become an inverted substance and was dropping down in powder form. Light against dark is a beautiful thing in itself, and pine woods a distillation of it.
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