Last year, I was skiing the back bowls at Vail in November. This year, it's January and I stand at the top of the mountain and look towards Blue Sky ... through ropes. Groomers. Such a dirty word. In my dreams, I am cruising down Champagne Glade, Skree Field and Lover's Leap. I am on top of the powder, oblivious to the ground. There is no ground. Little jump. Little drop. Pole plant. Knees bent. Slipping in and around the baby trees. Following a track into the woods. Making a track in the woods. It's below zero, but I'm on fire. I am alive (but I am asleep). Until the snow comes, I'll focus on The Winter That Was.
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