for Corinne, skate skier extraordinaire
The meadow was a violent scourge of white,
and still we chose to leave our cars and ski.
The wind and blowing snow obscured our sight,
lashed through our hats and stole our breath, but we
leaned into it and laughed, as if the storm
were nothing more than an excuse to be
more brave, more willing to eschew what’s warm
so we might face our fear, find joy in risk—
and sure enough, I felt myself transform
from nervousness to animated bliss—
and we for hours skied amidst the gusts
and for that time, knew nothing more than this:
to meet the crazy storm. When scared, to thrust
ourselves into the howling world. And trust.