one last tendril of the cryosphere unfurled over Washington today, leaving nearly the entire landscape ski-able. I got out just in time to be able to hop from place to place, mostly avoiding those short painful patches where skis chalkboard-scraped over well-shoveled salt flats. All seemed quiet between the Newark Gardens and the National Cathedral. Long sidewalks shoveled too soon or too late had a perfect compact layer of snowice for picking up speed. Through short stretches of trail behind my house -- for maybe half a mile, and back, and back again -- I felt like I was on a real cross country ski trail. Can't believe I can't do this three times a week through the entire winter. The moon and Homeland lights lit up the forest but for the darkest of trees and the dead black stream. Urban skiing has a certain appeal. Kind of a lawlessness like paddling through flooded forests normally well away from the channels of Breakneck Creek. And like canoeing through the downtown of a small town, it changes the whole point of view.