Letter: A ski bum’s holiday
A ski bum’s holiday
On my way to town I walked past my old skis setting on the porch. They were full of spiderwebs and just a bit rusty. The glitter of a ski town has all but faded away some time ago. The nameless fancy faces are still roaming the streets looking for what is. As I walk the smell of ski wax drifts into my brain triggering a dream of snowy pasts.
I can feel the chair bouncing as I slide off to meet my shadowy friends, hunkering in the gusty wind. We move off across the hill. The snow filled wind tugs on my parka, slowing me down. The snow is swirling and blowing all around. There is no right or left, no up or down. There, you can see the silhouette of the trees were your friends disappeared. There’s a sense of change, your feet drop and start the two-footed bogie. Some trees flash by. The snow is rolling past your hips.
Suddenly its very quiet and everything slows way down. You are drifting, floating riding the funky groove.
I am a snowflake drifting in the wind. Energy in harmony with the wind.
There is no time only movement. Suddenly you pop into a wall of white wind. All you can feel is the sweet spot on your feet, all you see is swirling white. You hear a familiar sound and steer. Slowly the lift appears and your friends grinning goggles greet you. A quick nod and on the lift to go fly some more.
I find myself standing at my car. What a day. I am tired. I have to sit a bit till I can get my boots unbuckled. It must be time to put that dream away.
Corky Woodring, Heeney
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