Photo @alexeyok

FRESH SNOW

Powder to be exact

Three inches or so

I glide on the side

Of the trail

No tracks here

Unspoiled soft willing

My skis clack together

Muffled by this

Thin cover of fluff

My favorite sound

Click clickety tap tap

Legs pressed together

My whole being

Dancing above

In the most

Ecstatic joy

Syncopation in motion

I’m up at dawn for this

High in the

Mother mountains

The warm moist air

Floats up from the valley

Every sunny day

Freezes in the still

Night air and lays

Her crystals and flakes

Out for me

I trade my blanket

For this kin

Every day I can

The first three runs

Warm my heart

For the day

Feed my soul

What would life be

Worth living at all

Without my snow

Powder to be exact