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No Friends on a Pow Day
April 27, 2016
A new day, a clean slate, without worry.
I feel as though I am the last man on Earth.
Billowing clouds of white crystals,
And icy sentinels reaching for the sky.
It smells clean,
like pure, unspoiled oxygen.
If anything it must taste like victory,
a reward for something unknown.
My mind struggles to fathom such a gift,
it is simply too great to comprehend.
It grants me solitude,
For there is no sound.
It’s calm, it’s tranquil.
A new day, with fresh pow, and fresh tracks.
© Anonymous
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This poem is influenced from my feelings about skiing. I happen to be very passionate about it, so this is a description or visualization of the perfect day.