Night after night I watch them die,

My children, my parents, my wife and I.

Crossing a pond in the dead of winter,

A skidoo roars by and the ice starts to splinter.

There’s nowhere to run.

Ice covers the sun.

We all fall through.

Into the water so blue.

I can see them now as they struggle for air.

Eyes filled with horror and then a blank stare.

We sink to the bottom,

We’re all going to die,

My children, my parents, my wife and I.

Once more I get to prove my worth.

Eight months I wait for this very day.

I can hear the snow, its crisp and cold as he lays me in it.

The bindings are solid and ratchet tight.

The tuning is perfect, wax is solid but slick.

My edges are fresh, sharp and shining.

He’s been looking forward to this day as much as I have…

And we’re off.

The first few turns are always the hardest.

Thighs loosening…

I’m doing my best to bend to his will.

We hate falling on the first run.

Understanding the snow takes time.

Its packed but not hard.

The new thin layer on top explodes into the air as we cut into it.

He’s getting the feel for it now.

I’m turning less and accelerating,

Speed is the goal now.

Carving is slow and calculated

Can’t lose speed.

The snow passes under me quickly now.

I barely have the time to feel it,

Or hear it.

It conforms to us now.

I can feel his mind is in another place.

His weight gently leans and guides me.

Knees absorbing the bumps and ruts,

We’re one with the hill.

And in only minutes it’s over.

I separate from his boots and we board the gondola.

Its time to live again,

Our affair with the mountain.

The mountain is below me but I can’t see the bottom.

An orange sun on the horizon barely visible,

as the squall is hiding my path forward.

Strapping into my board,

snow accumulating on my gloves,

my breath failing at fogging my goggles.

Fairweather skiers avoid this weather …

I crave it.

To some it’s a warning to wait.

To me it’s a challenge to leap ahead and begin.

I can barely see but seconds in front of me,

and the snow in the air deadens all sound.

My eyes sharpen.

My ears open.

And the sixth sense we all have …

It’s instinctively telling me I’m alone.

Its just me, the hill and gravity.

Its daring me to descend.

The unknown ahead …

It scares …

It invigorates …

It inspires …