I slowly unzip the back, sliding out the contents within.
My hands feel familiarity.
Let the wax warm while I sharpen the edges, one long smooth stroke along each side.
Taking time for all the little details.
The wax burns my fingers as I rub it in the crevices, filling the scratches, holes, mistakes.
I’m ready.
I’ve missed the wintertime mountains.
I love this, it's so well written. Well done.
@Suzy – thanks for stopping by.
Very poetic photos and writing you have here. I am not much of a skier, but you capture something I miss about skiing, standing on top of a mountain seemingly all alone.
Im amazed by your writing.