Saturday, January 17, 2009


I have a confession to make. My husband is passionate about skiing and I'm not. I'm the creative type and love projects. I give my family a good laugh when I exit a chair lift. Instead of jumping off, I drop like a sack of potatoes. My dearest beloved, graceful on skis seems to float down mountains without effort. I fight it all the way and can hardly wait to rest by the fireplace with a hot chocolate. I wrote this for him.

Sparkling white powder
On high mountain top
Is falling down gently
Like sweet ginger pop.

Dangling boots soaring
Preparing to jump
From chairs in the sky
And land with a thump.

A flash of deep colors
Dashing through trails
Brush against branches
Wearing white veils.

Zinging and zooming
Soaring down hill
Frosty cheeks glowing
Oh what a thrill.

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