It was a cold cloudy day. It was lightly snowing and, the streets below were iced over. Snow blanketed the blue bristled branches of the spruce trees and capped the tops of the high rocky mountain ridges surrounding me. From the chairlift I could see other skiers beneath me moving smoothly over the freshly fallen powder, almost as though they were hovering effortlessly over the mountain-side. I neared the top of the mountain and just as though it were second nature, I pulled my feet in close and prepared to make a quick leap onto the platform in order to get away quick enough so that the lift does not grab me and push me to the ground in a tangled mess. As I pushed myself off the platform I used my ski poles to push my way to the slope. As I neared I gave notice to the black-diamond shaped sign that to most people would strike a sense of intimidation, but not me, because I had experience. I situated my goggles and duck-walked right off the slope. That was it, I was skiing.

I often enjoyed having the mountain to myself on such cold, snowy days. It gave me plenty of space to feel the isolation of the nature around me and absorb its peacefulness and tranquility. I would move with the rolling hills and turns, almost without effort, I would let the snowy hills direct my path. Without any effort or thought I was like those I had seen earlier, moving softly and smoothly, almost hovering on the powder. I looked to both sides of me. Ice covered blue spruce forests surrounded me and I could no longer see the city below. Up ahead was just dense fog and endless falling snow. I made occasional turns and “S” shaped paths, but with no one else in my way, I went as fast as I wanted. I bulleted around corners and thrusted myself over raised terrain jumps and boxes, finding myself airborne in the cold, dry air. I made a soft landing and continued on my speedy way in a race against myself to the bottom of the mountain. Like the snow, I moved lightly and gently, almost making no body movement at all.

I would on occasion look down at my skis and would see my binding glimmer in the dim light and watch the glittery powder whisk over my skis and becoming lost behind me in the mad cloud of trailing snow. I had made the only tracks thus far into the early part of the day and found myself satisfied to know that I had no body else to worry about, in fact when I was skiing, I had nothing to worry about. I seemed as though I was on a vacation from the world. I was in my own world, isolated, and away from all my stresses. Like the snow, I had no cares for problems around me, I was alone in the quiet blue spruce forests.

I was now nearing the bottom of the mountain and could see the lift station a few hundred yards ahead. I was almost disappointed deep down inside to be at the end, but then I realized something very important. By the time I get to the top again, my tracks will be covered again and I can experience it all again with no change of effect. Like the falling snow, I was perseverant.