my wilderness

a sharp wind on my face

a scent of cold fury

taste my dry chapped lips

listen to the thud of my skis falling into fluffy powder

see all elements of life

senses aware of their surrounding


encompass our small pack

not a spare breath to speak

leaving an interesting path with handrails on the side

more so divots, created out of arm technology

and trudging feet  that clunk the powder to a hard packed level

clunk. clunk. clunk


my thighs burn

"how much longer till I can ski the fucking thing?"

keep going young soul

i think of the pioneers such as dawson in 1885

with no knowledge of such landscapes

no feel of the snow.
crystals covering his skis with ever step

the sun, shining so brightly on the high peaks

my mind moves through historical references and triggers my eyes to see



dead and alive

but still here

not harmed by pollution. not destroyed for kindling

just there as a gesture

nature over powers


i take a sip from my camel back

i'm here

mountains- the whole rockies in front of my eyes

adore the scenery


anxious to get a reward for my doings

no better then my body feeling weightless

levitating. dancing

diving into every turn

reminiscing the agony. the hardships overcome

for true happiness