The Wealth

A foot of new powder.  People howling in rapture through the tree-runs.  More hoots heard throughout the mountain.  Snow bliss.  Powder smiles.  One skier blasting by me at about forty mph, giggling to herself.  Audibly giggling.  Storm delirium.  For me, a leisure hour or two of skiing.  Four solid, sometimes transcendent runs.  Deep.  Not skiing at all, but floating on top of slides.   Snow inside of coat.  Snow inside of goggles.  Snow inside of hood.  Snow inside of gloves.  Snow inside of pants.  Snow inside of mind, inside of heart.  AWESOME.

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