Because once I was an ocean
and now I am a mother,
because every single moment
is integral to ever after,
I give myself to this snowy hour
skiing into the woods with my daughter
and know that no matter how brief a day,
an hour lasts forever.
Posts Tagged ‘skiing’
The Outing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, daughter, skiing, time on December 6, 2025| 2 Comments »
Why I Go Nordic Skiing in the Woods
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged embodiment, losing the self, skiing, winter on February 2, 2025| 4 Comments »
Because the world.
And then, with one step,
I slide into snow-mind
in which I am glide,
sun-bright and crystalline,
field-vast and drift-found,
a boundaryless being
of sparkling immensity
moving inside a glittering realm,
and whoever else I might be
in the small world of rooms
and stoplights and
screens and keys is not lost
exactly, but is too little here
to not see beyond as I become
soft meadow, receiver
of birdsong, inhaler
of evergreen, an ecstatic
point in infinite space
sliding from grace
to ever expanding grace.
Blustery
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breath, friendship, laughter, skiing, wind on March 3, 2024| 4 Comments »
for Corinne
Into the wind, the whipping
wind, the fierce, tempestuous,
mighty wind, we skied
as it pushed us and
bent us and slapped us
in a language made wholly
of howl—how alive we were,
laughing into the gale,
taking the storm into our lungs,
as if our breath could learn
its syntax, translate
its tongues of gust and squall
into wild, untamable mirth.
This is how we carried the storm
home in our bloodstream.
This is how, even now,
I feel it in my lips,
an uncontrollable, reckless smile.
Skiing in the Dark
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, identity, skiing on January 13, 2024| 8 Comments »
Though you know by heart
this valley with its river,
its sheer red walls,
its ragged peaks,
in this moment all you see
is the dull glow of snow
a few feet in front of you
and dim shadows almost
suggesting the track,
and the whole world shrinks
to lungs and legs and stroke
and glide and it feels so good
to be outside, to move
through night guided more
by ears and less by eyes,
to slide through the world
a foot at a time and whoever
you were before this,
that’s not who you are now,
sweet creature of heartbeat,
stranger to the next moment.
Skiing into the Storm
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chaos, instability, skiing, wind, winter on January 8, 2024| 10 Comments »
I love the days when it feels right
not to turn from the storm
but to move deeper in,
when the body doesn’t shy
from the cold and wind,
when the smile arrives
as the storm magnifies
and a whoop rises from the lungs
like a fierce and hardy bird.
What is it in us that feels more alive
in these moments?
Is it the part that rhymes
with instability,
the untamable part
that knows chaos, too,
is holy? And the gusts
swirl and the chill bites
and the smile
incredibly widens.
Paradise Shared
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, Christie Aschwanden, connection, skiing on December 18, 2023| 3 Comments »
And if we have touched paradise,
let’s share it the way Christie did today
when she skied me to the edge
of the snow deep cliff and we gazed out
at the world below. I know how shared struggle
can become connective glue.
But beauty, too, adheres us—
invites us to become like wings,
knowing it takes two to fly.
While Skiing at Priest Lake, I Realize
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, life, miracle, present, skiing on January 28, 2023| 6 Comments »
And here is the miracle—
to find in grief not only sorrow
but a ravenous gratefulness for life,
to find in loss not only emptiness
but an unimaginable abundance.
It doesn’t happen in a day,
no, not even in a year,
but who said miracles
need be instantaneous.
Today I skied through a veil of trees
and forgot for a moment
anything but trees, but skis, but lungs.
I want to tell you in that moment,
there was no one to remember,
there was no one to look ahead,
there was no one except the human
who knew to place the next ski in front
of the other, knew to trust
the ragged saw of her breath,
knew that life is only as beautiful
as death.
Starlings in Winter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birds, friendship, skiing, starlings, winter on January 22, 2023| 4 Comments »
for Christie
Deep in the snowy woods,
we startle at the sound
of starlings as they braid
above the branches.
How often do I miss
the song of the moment?
But today, beside you
I could not miss
the sweet shushing of skis,
the sacred huff of breath,
the lyric of our laughter
and the strong refrain of my heart
as it wheeled like a starling,
a wild and soaring thing
drawn to fly with others,
ready to sing for no reason
except the joy of singing.
Contact Joy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged joy, marriage, skiing, work on April 1, 2022| 10 Comments »
He cleans the base of the skis
with a fine, steel brush to remove
the old wax, his body swaying
above the ski, tip to tail, tip to tail,
so the micro hairs on the base
will lay down in the direction of travel
on snow. A fine copper brush
cleans it more. His movements
are quick, precise, a dance
that now comes naturally.
The only music is the sound
of the brushes, the sound
of his breath. There is no
laughter, no joking,
not even a smile, but
sometimes on winter nights
I walk toward the light
in the garage and watch
his body intent on its work,
and I feel the quiet joy
he finds in preparation
and the work of foundation,
and his joy seeps into me,
soft as the darkness
that holds the garage,
deep as the space
that holds us all.
Still Learning What It Might Mean
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged learning, poem, poetry, skiing, wax on January 12, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Dave drips the hot blue wax onto the ski
and tells me how it will help the ski meet the snow.
“The cold snow is sharp,” he says, “and aggressive.”
Today’s wax will harden the base of the ski.
I think of the world and all its sharpnesses,
all its aggressions. We humans
are not so unlike the snow. I’ve been fooled
so often. Perhaps my soul needs blue wax.
No, I think, what the soul really needs
is more like the scraper he pulls out,
and the brushes of copper, horsehair, and nylon.
What the soul really needs is a scouring.
He explains that the scouring allows
the cuts in the structure to be exposed
so that the skis don’t suction to the snow.
Is that what all these little cuts are for in me?
To keep me from getting stuck? Later,
as I skate in the race and feel my ski glide
across what is cold, I thank Dave
with my visible breath.
There are so many ways to relearn
how it is we meet the world. Today,
the lesson is a ski, a scraper, some wax,
a man with an iron, and acres and acres of snow.