Frozen Memories

My breath was a puff of frozen air and my feet made small crunching sounds in the new snow. The cacophony of the busy highway crackled all around me as my mind drifted back in time…to a different life and a different setting.

I walked through the soft falling flakes of powder today and remembered mornings when I dressed in layers of thermal clothing: first layer to wick the sweat, second layer to trap the heat, a third layer for insulation, and then the socks. Sliding into baggy snowboard pants, tightening the belt but keeping slack for room to spin my body, and pulling my jacket over my shoulders; vents closed and pockets zipped tight.

Next came the boots, laces drawn snug, and then a run for the door. Here is a story of why I love winter and the feeling of soft snow falling all around me. The memory of the search of fresh powder to ride; the search of hidden bowls and tree runs. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Picture your self on a chairlift, your feet swaying lazily beneath you in the open air, the wind cold and brisk on your face, and flecks of falling snow on your tongue. You look at your friends and smile at their grins of mischief; grin at your own thoughts of pure abandonment. Imagine the whisk of the seat as you slide off of it and feel the snow as you glide over its surface.

Hike high on a mountain face as your boots sink into a deep hole of yielding velvet and listen to your heart pound blood in your ears. Stand on top of the world and survey your domain of valleys made of rock and stone. Hear laughter all around you and glimpse fragments of childhood memories of days spent with no worry; days of no care.

Click in and enjoy the ride.

Drift along currents of white, run your hand behind you and trail your fingers in the quiet wake. Spy a forest in the distance, over the hills and far away. Glide into its sanctity of hush and stillness; notice that even the wind falls silent in respect. It is in the shelter of trees that snow becomes a kaleidoscope of champagne dust sprinkled from the heavens.

Give thanks for the softness of life; give thanks for the softness of Nature. Sit. Listen. Breathe. Remember. Forgive.

Stand. Charge.

Ride through trees of green and white, snap off bows laden with snowflakes as you brush by them, and feed off the adrenaline now in control of your actions. Feel the branches crack across your forearms and rampage through life with a grunt and a yell. Lean back on your rear foot and surf across the waves of powder, drop your knee and dig deep to send a rooster of white up and over your shoulder.

Wipe snow off your goggles and slide your fingers over your mouth; taste the excitement wet and delicious on your pallet. Suck in your breath as the ground falls steep, follow the rush, and drift off a lip of snow…and fly with the birds in a frozen moment in time; a frozen stall of thought.

Land with an explosion of earth as it shatters and buries you in its grasp, and then lets you go with a whisper of luck. Ride. Ride. Ride.

I return to my present in a fracture of thought and memory. Images flutter away yet leave a blanket of fleece and warmth. The mountains will always be there, I know, but I miss them so, especially when the winds howl and the snow falls. Oh how they pushed me to be better; to be more. But I can always return once again. Not so long away and yet so far to go.

My love. My passion. My soul. These are the inspirational push from behind now; the push to be more; the push to learn; the push to progress. When once I only believed in self and questioning of self, I now believe in us all; believe that we must always question, search, question and ask, then search some more. The more you search the more you find. The more you find the more you learn. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"It's the experience that counts rather than the percieved happiness." - Craig Kelly