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.

4 Replies to “snowlove”

  1. 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.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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