we wait on the embankment
in front of tombstones of trees
waiting for the siege of winter
watching the shadows of lanky birches
scar the burnt mountainsides
and the creek cough it’s weak trickle
the footsteps of wind emerging from every corner
Januarys use to be more fertile
use to drop its dress over the
rusted ironwork of branches
by now
Mt Tecumseh would lower it’s staircase to our
two conspiratorial hammocks
strung between two seasons
two falling birds and two twin leashed suns
when finally the library above pushed its books from its shelves
released its white roosters
we pressed on ahead
cut the virgin day in two
composed the most marvelous living music
of ski against snow
crunch against slide
and finally when flanked by night and temperature
a fire rose from the snow
warming a pouch of wine
and toes gnawed on by cold
we retreated to the swing of a hammock
dangling from one season to the next
the chandelier of snow above us mounting
Crooked Blue Line 
I wonder if I might pin your great photo of your camp on my board for others to see? I really love it.
You are hard core!