I should have been in church, sitting in front of the congregation behind the little table with its trays covered by a white cloth. I should have been chatting with Craig and Steve and getting dirty looks from our folks for not paying attention as the speaker droned on. I should have been breaking the bread of the sacrament as Craig read the blessing from the note-card out of site on the table, and then handing the trays to the assembled deacons for distribution to the parents and their whiny children, the bored teens and sleepy seniors.

But I wasn't in church. I was up in the Wasatch Mountains near Solitude. I was on virgin snow, tracked only by rabbits and the occasional bobcat. Technically, I was also trespassing. But I didn't care. This was the first time I'd been out this year. And it couldn't have been a better day for it. There had been a series of four storms within a week, storms that had dumped ninety inches of perfect powder in the high mountains. But this Sunday morning the sun was up, the skies were clear and the air was crisp and clean.

I mentioned I was trespassing. I was also being foolish. I was up here before the avalanche crews, and I knew some of the areas I wanted to ski would have dangerous overhangs. But I was also an amateur photographer, and I wanted pictures of those overhangs before the guns of the avalanche crews brought them down. I'm not completely stupid, however. I'd left a note for my parents telling them where I was going to be, and what time I planned to return. Getting stuck up in these mountains in the summer wasn't fun, in winter it was nasty. And I had my "find-me". It was a transceiver skiers could wear, with the idea if they got trapped by a falling mountain of snow, the searchers would have a good idea of where to find the body. I'd never met anyone who had ever needed it, but my parents and I had an agreement. If I was going to be completely stupid, I had to be prepared.

I'd found two of the overhangs I'd wanted, and gotten some great pictures, and was trying to get the perfect shot of the third when I heard the boom of an avalanche control charge far to the south. Ok, time to get out of the backcountry and pay for a lift ticket.

As I was making my way down a gentle slope towards my car, I sped past a vision that almost had me sprawled on my face. With difficulty, I got stopped and turned around. Then I took off my goggles and rubbed my eyes. But she was still there. She was in a yoga pose, one leg tucked under her; the other bent uncomfortably and tucked into the crook of her elbow. And she was naked.

Ok, at seventeen, I'd looked through my share of Playboys and Penthouses. I'd even gotten an eyeful from a former girlfriend. But this wasn't a small-breasted sixteen-year-old, or a two-dimensional piece of paper. This was a full-breasted, pale skinned adult female. And then I realized I was staring rudely. I was about to turn away when an explosion rocked the snow I stood on.

I glanced at the overhang I'd just photographed, and noted with dismay it was now rolling slowly towards me. Ok, I could probably make it to safety if I skied like a madman. But then the woman stood up, and I realized I didn't see her skis. Or her clothes. OK. This is very bad. Avalanche approaching naked woman with no skis. Screw this. I kicked off my skis and trudged to her, grabbing her arm and dragging her down the hill to where I'd noticed a small cliff wall.

I pulled her unresisting form around the wall, and then forced her to knees. I stripped off my coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders, then knelt to face her, hoping the wall of snow would flow over the cliff with enough momentum to pass us by. But I unhooked the "find-me" from my coat just in case.

"If we survive this, I'd really like to know what the hell you were thinking when you started your workout." I said to her. Then the roar of the snow was all that existed until a rolling stone smacked me in the skull, and darkness swallowed me.

"Ahh, I see you're awake. Good."

I opened my eyes and looked around. Everything I saw were shades of white. I was inside what seemed to be a house, or maybe one of those fairy tale cottages. I was lying on something that felt like a bed, but the woman who spoke was stirring a large kettle hung over an open fire not twelve feet away. I sat up carefully, expecting a head rush and stabbing pain from the rock that hit me, but neither appeared.

"Excuse me, but how did we get here?" I still wore my bibs and turtleneck, but someone had taken off my boots.

"I used the snow to take us home. What is the hot drink you mortals partake of now? The last time I met one of you, it was hot cider." She turned to look at me, and I realized it was the yoga artist from the mountainside. She was wearing clothing now, but the effect was hardly what I could have called "dressed". She wore a thin white gown that revealed much more than it concealed, and I did try not to stare. But it wasn't easy.

I finally pulled my eyes away from her torso and looked at her face, and realized she waited for a response. "Oh! Umm, usually coffee, or cocoa. Sometimes tea."

She looked at me for a long moment, then turned to what seemed to be a pantry. The packet she produced seemed terribly incongruous with our surroundings, but she tore it open and poured it into a large mug. Then she filled the mug from a kettle that had been hidden by the pot she still stirred occasionally. She frowned down into the cup, but shrugged and stirred it before handing it to me. I took a sip, expecting the contents to be weak because the mug was large. But the flavor was rich and delicious. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You may want to take off those heavy clothes, though. You'll find it gets warm in here quite fast with the fire going."