SCOO-WOOP
Active member
Sup guys. I'm writing a short piece for a local magazine about my passions and obviously I chose skiing. However, the only person who has read it other than myself is my mom. And seeing as shes my mom, I don't really trust her to give me an unbiased judgement of my work. So, read it if you want. Don't if you don't. I just really need some feedback before I send it to the editor.
We wake up and leave you in the early hours of the morning.
You don’t see us go.
You don’t hear us ramble out the door.
We leave a kiss on your cheek, or a few dollars and a kind note
on your coffee table. Maybe a small bottle of our favorite alcohol if
we can afford it.
We live on couches. In cramped hotel rooms and back seats. In sleepers, tents, snow-caves, shacks. We couldn’t care less about where we stay. As long as we get to go out and explore our own little world when the sun rises.
Two pieces of wood sandwiched between plastic and fiberglass.
Two pieces of aluminum. Some warm clothing. Maybe a beer. That’s all we
need.
We find beauty in the small things; the way fresh groomed
snow feels under our skis as we edge, slash, and glide down the
mountain. The feeling of weightlessness as we careen through waist-deep
powder, through trees, and over cliffs. The deep red and the fiery orange glow of the peaks as the sun rises over the mountains on a cold winter’s morning.
Our worries fade as our focus intensifies. The yelling, the
fighting, and the arguments all go silent as we begin our run. All
that’s left is the sound of wind rushing by our ears. The feeling of
butterflies in our stomachs as we drop in. The raw, pristine beauty of
the mountains that give so much and ask for so little.
What are we? Why are we here? What are we doing? What’s the
point? These questions may never be answered while we are back in the
real world. But when we’re on the mountain skiing; when we’re too
focused on it to care about anything else; when nothing matters except
getting down to the lift and back up top for another lap; those
questions never even come to mind.
Go ski.
We wake up and leave you in the early hours of the morning.
You don’t see us go.
You don’t hear us ramble out the door.
We leave a kiss on your cheek, or a few dollars and a kind note
on your coffee table. Maybe a small bottle of our favorite alcohol if
we can afford it.
We live on couches. In cramped hotel rooms and back seats. In sleepers, tents, snow-caves, shacks. We couldn’t care less about where we stay. As long as we get to go out and explore our own little world when the sun rises.
Two pieces of wood sandwiched between plastic and fiberglass.
Two pieces of aluminum. Some warm clothing. Maybe a beer. That’s all we
need.
We find beauty in the small things; the way fresh groomed
snow feels under our skis as we edge, slash, and glide down the
mountain. The feeling of weightlessness as we careen through waist-deep
powder, through trees, and over cliffs. The deep red and the fiery orange glow of the peaks as the sun rises over the mountains on a cold winter’s morning.
Our worries fade as our focus intensifies. The yelling, the
fighting, and the arguments all go silent as we begin our run. All
that’s left is the sound of wind rushing by our ears. The feeling of
butterflies in our stomachs as we drop in. The raw, pristine beauty of
the mountains that give so much and ask for so little.
What are we? Why are we here? What are we doing? What’s the
point? These questions may never be answered while we are back in the
real world. But when we’re on the mountain skiing; when we’re too
focused on it to care about anything else; when nothing matters except
getting down to the lift and back up top for another lap; those
questions never even come to mind.
Go ski.
