January 7, 2008
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Lightly falling to the ground,
Icy cold, white petals,
Coating the dirt, rocks, grass, and trees,
And the tops of her skis.

Air rushes over her flushed cheeks,
Her hair escapes from her hat, a tangled mess in the wind,
Poles held out, knees bent,
Twirling side to side like a ballerina.

Skis tight together, almost touching,
Bobbing up and down,
She goes over a bump,
And flies like a puffy, exotic bird,

A shout of pure ecstasy soars from her blue lips.
She slowly descends back to earth,
Landing gently on her frozen soles,
And the planks of wood which are her wings.

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