Fragile blue air almost cracks as I walk along the stomped snow pathways. The snow tinkles like crushed glass as it is scuffed by careless boots. With sun shining on the mountain tops, the air deceives me with its crisp cold. Walking across the lake, my mind soars with the upswept trees lightly decorated with snow clumps. The tiny breeze caresses my almost-frost-bitten cheeks. Reversing direction, seeking the protection of the Chateau, I pass an exhilarated tourist who asks, only a bit in jet, "Frozen hard?!" "Well, I survived!" quip I, "and so have others, if the the footprints are to be believed." In fact a dozen or more thrilled visitors dot the lake's surface, puffy in winter gear - and these are the non-athletes. So many others are pouring exertion into snowshoeing and skiing on
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