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