| July 20, 2017 |
I look at the bowl below me. It’s milky white, untouched, and vast. The intricacies of the landscape lack contrast; I merely see a surface of flowing, powdery sugar. There’s no clear path to follow, so I know I must pave my own. As I edge forward, I can feel its gravitational pull. I see the tips of my skis jut over the edge, and I release all resistance, surrendering to the blanket of snow. My poles drag beside me, as I carve into the landscape. My heart races, my legs and hips flow with my skis, and I move in sync with the varying grades. The contrast becomes clearer, and I begin sensing the variance in the landscape. I respond to each intricacy with intention. I may let out a sigh of relief, a “WAHOO” of exhilaration. Breathe in, cut right. Breathe out, cut left. Edge to edge, tip to tail. This awakens me, enlivens me.
And this? This is winter.