Standing atop the silent mountain bare,

Snow rivers flowing, quivering and shining white

Before my dazzled eyes and tumbling down the slopes

That spread before me.

Eager the white snow waits

As if with breath held in for my impetuous flight.

And yet I wait.  I cannot move because entranced

By sunbeams’ glittering light along the valley floor.

I hover still, poised on the edge of Time,

A pause that stretches an eternity of awe.

Then of a sudden, in one swift, wide arc sublime

I fling myself away into the void below

And downhill crunch and whistle on my skis.

With plunging sticks and flying hair, I carve my way

Through rivulets of snow.

And at the bottom of the slope on looking back

I see the dark, cruel furrow that my path did mow

Into that pristine, sparkling carpet, white and pure.

And see the mountain rise without complaint up to the skies

And dwarf my feeble efforts with sheer immensity of size.