Politics of the Soul: Snow Job, A Most Beautiful Politic
Dec 2nd, 2007 | 3 responses
Just this picture for your rest and restoration before the week ahead…
If I hadn’t spent too many months in a wheelchair as a kid, I would have loved to do this: ski pure powder, like Mercurius, winged boots, ankles practically able to rotate 360 degrees , flying through the everything clean and pure at high speed, lungs filled with snow crystals, goggles caked with snow, snow pouring over the slats….
As it is, I consider hitting a femmie stride in stilettos my favored athletic, feeling lucky to have mastered that small feat, no pun intended.
But still, when a day like this comes where I live in the Rockies, when Silverton Ski mountain had SO much snow, the chair lifts wouldn’t work, and the phone lines went down so they cant even take reservations…
and yet some few intrepid souls have snow-shoed and cross country-skied in over the top of the snow heaps taller than a tall man– and then put on their ski boots and sticks and boards to side-step excruciatingly far up the no-stairs mountain, man, the lats and gluts and soleuses needed to do that alone…
all in order to be the only scrape and shsss and breathing sounds in the midst of only wind sound, cheek against God’s cheek, to ski powder, running, jumping, leaping, diving and zig-zagging like sixty. Wow. Just wow.
the intrepid souls of this world,
such feathers on the breath of God…
the intrepid souls of this world
who take so many different forms…
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3 Responses to “Politics of the Soul: Snow Job, A Most Beautiful Politic”
Yes, precision and speed, one feels oneself mindless, a blur, leaning right, spraying ice off the side of one’s ski, and then leaning in and down, gathering speed and momentum, blind to left or right, blind to paltry offerings of today’s politicos, a picture of attention…….
until running headlong into a tall oak tree.
—Sony bono may he rest in peace.
….and then silence and one wonders where all that adrenalin went, all that forward progression. I wonder if he thought it was a dream and in a dream you can just hit the tree, bounce off, and keep going, wiping a little blood off you lip….then it’s that that becomes interesting ….the quiet, the whiteness of it, the stillness, and the contrasting drops of blood splattered there, but no sign of the skier…….gone, now up in the sky, from cloud to cloud, and straight down till the last minute, where he pulls up, his eyes protruding out the top of his head, the heart beating visibly through his shirt, and everything shifts to blue on blue, the sky, the sun, the speed, and you wrapped in it so tightly as to be indistinguishable.
Safe Play Ri buy one or two-stage gas Best snow blower for one, please run him. I never seem to die of carbon monoxide poisoning.