We found untouched snow in Maine the day after Thanksgiving, when Franklin County was still sleeping off turkey dinners.
Pure white stretching ahead between bare birch trees, no footprints but our own.
It’s a quiet kind of special, making those first tracks along the mountain path.
The world looks bigger from up here – layers of Maine wilderness dropping away below, while clouds play over distant peaks.
Our tracks cut clean lines through fresh powder, marking our slow climb upward.
Just us, the mountain, and that satisfying crunch under our feet.
You know how people talk about falling in love with places? Franklin County sneaks up on you like that – with moments of finding untouched trails and perfect silence.
S.J. Asher 
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