September 25, 2008
Silent peaks stand still,
call to sons of danger.
Lines of brave men are not present;
legends will be born today.
Fear builds as brave souls summit;
stinging wind robs them of smiles.
Their faces bundled against the storm,
stories of glory are no more.
The snow-gods sent gifts in the night,
fresh snow piled high.

Lifts unload on the mountain summit;
men prepare for judgment day.
Heroes strap into their boards;
boots and bindings are ready
When they cross the point of no return.
Men sling themselves over the pitch,

Turning left and right;
they try to avoid certain doom.
Trees and rocks fly by;
snow-warriors tremble with delight.
Air-catchers and speed-demons alike;
spoiled by the abundance of untracked snow.
Some dodge through trees,
these forest-dwellers crave close company.
Others wade through knee deep powder;

it is a wide open range that pleases them.
A man known only as snow-slayer takes his turn;
he lets out a shout that rings over all.
From the scraggly peaks to the trees,
this courageous man can do it all.
Onlookers turn their heads.
Desperate for a peek at the hero
Who careens around corners and soars off jumps.
He clings to the sky like a lost balloon.
When he returns to earth snowflakes scatter;
scared of the mountain-terrorizer.
When he concludes his magical run,
eyes watch closely for his next move.
The man returns to the lodge.
Loud praise greets him,
For people far and wide have heard his tale.
They come to take pictures and autographs.
For now the rider is finished,
tired from his snow-slashing.

He will need his rest,
for the snow-gods rarely sleep.

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