The Summit

The gondola lurched forward as my stomach began to turn

Heading toward the looming icy summit

The happy faces of the people below became

smaller and smaller

Just me and my dad staring out the window at the snow-covered

Green trees bending with the strong wind

The lift came to a sudden stop

Doors opened to the howling wind and flying ice

Scratching my skin and encouraging my fear

Everything was white but not

sparkling in the sun

like the snow I had skied on before

My father sped off into the daunting white.

The only sound was the shrieking wind;

my call to my father was only a squeak

so small in such a vast place

My limbs became numb as the swirling ice and thick snow

found a way into my boots and mittens

I began to slowly slide forward into the white expanse

the path that my father had left behind him

I struggled through the windswept whiteness

foggy goggles blurring my vision as

I finally fell at my father’s feet

Sprawled on the ice with a frozen face but

independent