Writing about a day at the mountain

The mountains are empty except for the ski-lift operators and some expert skiers who hope to be the first to leave their mark on the trails. The sun has just risen, and a thick coat of fog has nestled beneath the pine trees. The air is crisp and cool, and I can smell the remnants of a fire somewhere not far in the distance. It snowed heavily last night, so the ground is blanketed with a fresh layer of snow. It's that perfect texture, the kind of snow you want to pick up and press together.

I place my feet into my boots, then slide them into my skis, making sure to hear the click. As I inch my way to the ski-lift, the cool air rushes past my face. My cheeks are flushed, but it doesn't matter. It just adds to the excitement. I insert my poles deeper into the snow, then push off. My skis glide through the snow, leaving traces behind. Exhilaration runs through my veins as I lunge forward. I repeat this process until I reach the concrete stand of the lift. Gripping my poles tightly in one hand, I hold out the other for balance and wait for the chair.

Once seated, I silently admire the surroundings. I hold out a gloved hand and let the snowflakes settle on it. I watch them linger, and slowly disappear. Tiny icicles have formed on all the trees and shine brightly in the sun. People have begun to gather at the base of the mountain, and a long line has formed in front of the lift. My mouth curves into a smile; I am relieved that I got an early start.

The top of the ski lift is now visible in the distance atop a blanket of mist, so I sit up quickly. My legs dangle restlessly as I prepare to dismount. With my poles still in one hand, I slide down the mound of snow and curve around the cluster of people in front of the lift. Eager to take advantage of the fresh snow, I glide over to the side of the mountain and find a trail that looks appealing. I take a deep breath and begin to move down the mountain, rotating my body each time I turn.

As I swiftly slide down the mountain, the air shoots past my body, and I imagine I am skiing all alone. In deep concentration, I focus on my form and keep my skis parallel. When I reach the bottom, I am disappointed, but eager to try again.

I ski all day until the mountains are once again empty and no longer covered with thick, loose snow. Patches of slick ice are now exposed. My body is exhausted, yet I am still in high spirits, wanting to continue. Over come by fatigue, though, I unbuckle my boots, signifying the end of skiing for the day. I carry my skis over one shoulder and trudge through the thick slush that covers the base of the mountain. Satisfied with my performance, I leave the mountain with a smug smile.

Tempted to take another run, I stop and turnaround. The clouds have emerged and covered a large portion of the sun, so threequarters of the mountain looks dark. The mountain seems so large and overbearing, with the skiers merely scattered dots. I enviously watch people sipping steaming hot chocolate through the lobby windows, and head toward the hotel. There's always tomorrow.

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