White fresh powder
Soars through crisp, alpine air,
Brilliant, faceted crystals,
Refracting the light,
Of a white sun.
Thin, metal-edged slats,
Through feather-light snow cut
Leave chaos in their wake
The pristine, undisturbed snow
Parted like water.
Metal columns, stand,
Like artificial trees,
Casting shadows on the snow.
Cables, tight with excitement
Carry impatient skiers
Up the slope.
Excitement builds
At the crest of the hill.
Skis glide over packed snow,
And swish as they stop.
Looking over the edge,
Where tall black pines
Frame a run of snow,
The air, muffled by the snow,
Bitingly cold,
As the sun warms your face.
Rock forward, skis tip,
Savor the moment.
Past the fulcrum,
The weight slowly shifts,