2010 7th-8th Grade Poetry Winner
Fog curls down from a white sky,
To kiss the mountain in her snowy drape
Trees of dark green fir look on with envy.
Powder pulls at my boots, begging me to stay, with frozen touch
Moisture seeping into thick ski socks.
My skis edge into the frozen ground, feeling the mountain
That my eyes cannot find through the fog.
My light blue ski jacket is lost
In cloud-soft waves of brightest white.
I am blissfully forgotten amid the snow.
Hip angling up the mountain
To counter the forces pulling me downward
Poles searching for a solid place to stop,
Guiding me around, balancing me.
Powder overflowing around my knees.
Blind, gleefully liberated, I hit a knoll, skis bending upwards
Flying, for a split-second, suspended in the white
My skis reach to find ground, regaining balance,
Like a small bird carried on breaths of wind
I gain speed, carving through loose snow, swooping toward the bottom of the trail.
I leave behind the splendid freedom, until next run.