Breath in, breath out. 
Give thanks, my day starts.

These days I crave simplicity, 
connection to myself, to the planet, to the sun, moon, wind, water, clouds
I want the raw.
I want my legs to burn 
and my eyes to sting 
and my heart to racket in my rib cage
and my body to leap and bound and fly 
and breathe in heaving lung fulls of the freshest mountain air
I want to worship the crackling brevity of our time here

To me, this is skiing

It is harmony in all sounds and senses
it is the crinkling of the frost on the trees
the sharp smell of pine stinging your nostrils
the way the wind whips into every crevice when you are at full speed
it is the quiet of snow falling through the open air
a soulful silence where there is only just existence.

It is the cacophony of overcoming fear,
an unspoken symphony when you can orchestrate your freedom.
A place to be nimble through the trees and obstacles,
powerful through the open unknown, 
or unsure of yourself looking down at the world and your line below.
It is a place to be human.

Skiing gives us a slate on which to experience life,
a chance to play, choking on powder on those bottomless days
when every turn seems to be in just the right spot 
and time seems suspended
a chance to feel like a child again
Sharing the pink mountain tops with your friends in the last light of the day

Skiing is a place to be yourself
To do what you want
And go where you want
To tune in or tune out 

It’s a place to dig into the earth of your desires
Your sadness, your frustrations, your dreams
To lay it all out on the table, on the mountain in front of yourself
To say, I want nothing and I want everything and I am not sure how to do this.
Skiing is a place where you can throw both metal fingers in the air and pretend you are a gangster.
It’s a way to realise it’s all a dance, so you may as well work on your moves

It’s a place to say, this is me.