Skiing

The snow

is blown over the ridge

into pockets

on the lee side

it streams along

like mist

leaves bars of crust

in its wake

Rabbit bobcat coyote tracks

pines in the draw

the sound of bindings

squeaking up the ridge

Eating brittle bars

unwrapped with frozen fingers

not quite

quiet

in the afternoon grey

the big storm is coming

pushing out the cold air before it

like a firehose

You and me, we

could do this every day

for a long long

time

Then turn back down

the hill up Dunderberg

and back to the hot springs

Again and again

we could do this.