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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


When One is Officially Snowed In


Seattle has been transformed.  And the city has no idea what to do with itself (we're talking major shutdowns, the entire school system, seventy percent of the public transportation, several bridges) so it has released its residents out to play.

We trekked up to our favorite breakfast haunt along with approximately half the population of Seattle, jostling padded elbows and winking festively under beanies.  I had the Rainbow Rumble (an appropriate name for the hippy veggie dish) and he had the Daily Special.  We laughed with total strangers over snowball fights, chatted with a 3 year old on telemark skies, and cheered on the brave (and by brave I mean foolish) souls who sledded down the steepest street on nothing more than a cardboard box.  

Jovial doesn't even quite cover it.

I've decided that I love the snow.

Like, "if you love it so much, you should marry it."

I think I might take it on as a mister.