Snowmobiling

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Ten, Twenty, Thirty, Forty,
Fifty, Sixty, Seventy
The air pushing against my slick, black helmet.
I’m a high speed rabbit racing through the Thick pine woods
The snow barren trail a mentor reaching out its firm hand,
Guiding me to my mysterious destination.

The overhanging trees, a gentleman holding an umbrella,
Protecting me from the bright, Flashy sun
The sound of the engine grunting as it cycles the treads.
The sound of the wind brushing past my helmet
It’s a high speed chase around this windy snake like path

The energy transfer from the machine to me
The adrenaline pumping through each.
Coursing through my pulsing veins.
I am a snowmobile maneuvering under an emasculate canopy of trees

The risk of crashing at its climax,
I love the endless danger the trails hold for me.
Knowing I could crash at any time.
Or simply fall off.
I love the risk of running wild.
I love the fear knowing everything could end, even life itself.

My first time snowmobiling, this is
Up in Houghton Michigan, my birth place
I grow quite fond of this sport
My mind at a distance from Clarkston
It is here where I wish to reside,
It is here I want to stay
It is here I want to be.





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