Crushed sage pungent in the sharp air springs up worry through our snowshoe tracks 

Dana hold with one foot in Xtratuf sinking deep with each step, her fallen off snowshoe in hand

We know we've arrived because a cloud of steam covers the dark road, boiling up from the culvert of thermal springs

Headlights throw sharp relief, conifer silhouettes against the white mountainside on the other side of the river. We lean back in the heat of the wooden tub, stare up at nothing. If you close your eyes, you can imagine you're floating down the river