Ski Valley Area On Mt. Lemmon, the southern-most skiing in North America (45 min from where we live in Tucson — Images by kenne
Skiing Poem
Wind rushing past my face,
Hair tossing behind my head.
The feeling, the chill, the utter thrill
The feeling I get when I’m flying down the hill,
Gliding across the soft blanket of white,
Weightless as if I were a feather.
Turn by turn, slope by slope, I take on the hill,
The monster of a mountain.
Moguls, jumps I challenge them all,
Wind rushing past my face,
Chilling me to my bones.
I feel the thrill swell, swell
Swell within me until I can’t hold it back.
Swoosh, swish, the snow billows up beside me
Into great clouds of white.
I can’t see a thing.
O the feeling, the thrill the utter chill,
The feeling I get when I’m skiing.
– Anne Cox – Age 11 When Written
Related articles
- Mt. Lemmon Fall Colors And The Story Of The First Ski Slope (kenneturner.com)
- Looking Through The Trees (kenneturner.com)
- Under The Golden Leaves (kenneturner.com)
Reblogged this on Fruity Memory.
Lovely golden hues in those photos and nice light behind the leaves. Lovely little poem too, Thanks for sharing.
Thanks for stopping by.