Awaking from our tryptophan-induced comas on Saturday, Bob and I decided that some fresh air was in order, and we set out on a mountain bike ride up our Salt Lake canyon of choice. As we rode upwards, the crisp air cut like a knife through my jacket, and my ears ached in protest before succumbing to inevitable numbness.
As we rode along the ridge-line, I watched the last arc of the sun disappear behind the peaks and the trail headed downwards through a series of switchbacks. Around a sharp corner I turned, my back tire skidding a bit in protest, and I saw him. An elfish figure with pointy ears and crisp, white hair flitted in front of my eyes and was gone in an instant.
In the blink of an eye, the trees in front of me changed. No longer brown and dull, every last corner of bark sparkled like diamonds in sunlight with white frost. It seemed as if I was descending into a fog or a cloud; rather I was descending into a Winter Wonderland sans snow. And out of the corner of my eye, I was sure I could spot the elusive sprite.
I have witnessed a miracle. I have spotted Jack Frost.