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I have lived in the Rocky Mountains since 1976. And I've watched winter capture the high country with clock-like regularity every October. But in more than 20 years of exploring Colorado mountains, I had never seen the sort of delicate ice formations that I encountered one morning, like sheets of thin transparent lace, along the banks of the Roaring Fork River near Aspen. Never before, and never since. This was "first ice" at its most poetic. An unexpected winter gift.
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