It’s eight in the morning, freezing cold and the sun is just coming up. There aren’t many of us up here at the top of the mountain. It snowed last night, quite a dump, and we are here for ‘First Tracks.’ The mountain ranges in the distance poke up into the slowly lightening sky. The snow glistens, smooth and unmarked.
There’s a swoosh and a crack and the first skier jumps off the top, the second quickly follows. I need to go.
I can’t wait. I am in the now. The exhilaration, the speed, the skill, the stillness, the only sound that of my skis, the flying fresh snow sticking to my face.
Me alone, my tracks behind me.
The valley, way below, waiting for us.