The wintry gusts hiss like a cat,
ready to pounce on my frigid limbs.
Sore, from carving down the mountain
over and over again.
Numb, from the feral bite of the cold.
Yet through all of the pain
I tug my gloves on tighter
and get back on the lift.

As the frosty chair sways in the wind;
the cold slowly seeps into my skull
through the gray mesh on my helmet
making my thoughts cloudy.
Like a darky, rainy day.

The ski lift reaches the cusp
Of my sanity and lets me off
Slowly accelerating I try to stop
Instead, tumbling over
I leave an imprint in the snow
The icy chunks sting
Against my flushed skin

Looking through the darkness
of my thoughts,
I see a lone skier
spraying snow to each side,
and making his way to the base
of the mountain.

I glance at the sign,
but ParaDice feels like a challenge
instead of a reward.
Strapping my boot in,
I try to reign in
My straying stability.
I start the descent, not stopping
until I almost reach the headwall.
I spray ice over the drop off
and take one last look behind me
before taking the plunge.