Niseko, Hokkaido in winter

There is a stillness about the winter air, a refreshing clean cold cut through by the howling wind, the clatter of hail, the smell of hot spring onions in ramen. The eerie, monotonic colour and quiet on the evening slopes is my favourite kind of silent night. It was so good to remember what it feels like to be deep in snow, so much snow. So good to remember how deliciously evocative Japan is, so good to forget for awhile, so good to ache, to soak at dusk in a steaming onsen pool, so good to fall into deep, dreamless sleeps.

I was uncertain about going and indeed, the boys’ lessons and progress were sporadic, the instructors indifferent, the room and general resort coordination too short, inadequate and poor value. But it didn’t really matter. I got to spend time with some of my favourite people. It was a privilege to be there together, to wade through the snow to build snowmen and igloos, to watch them discover the mountain, the food, the heated toilet seats. We found Pierre Herme hot chocolate. It made my heart happy to ski with the goddaughters and to marvel at how our second goddaughter has emerged a graceful and fearlessly fierce skiier. I got to see the boys having fun skiing with their own friends, family friends with boys their age who now live in America. We even got to have some adults-only group dinners, lingering over conversations, warm sake and plum wine sodas, enabled by friends who organized their wonderful teenagers into babysitting.

It was full of fantastic moments, snapshots in time and joy that are quiet fuel for gratitude and resolution.