Breathing
The valley stretches below as the chair lift ascends up into the fog bank of the higher elevations. Below sits the famous clock tower in the center of the village. Above is the mountain’s peak, shielded from view.
The giggles wiggle among the cold breeze and trees decorated with beads and colorful women’s brassieres.
Hold on to your poles and gloves. Ignore the vibration of your phone inside your jacket pocket. It is not that important to answer. It is only a distraction. That could wait.
The bar slides up as the body pushes from the chair down the ramp. Immediately the skis turn towards the dissension point.
With a deep breath the snow covered evergreen trees move pass on both sides. The wind whispers between the ears. Legs sway in each direction, yet centered on the path ahead.
On the exhale the next hill becomes a stopping point and at the top is the valley, another trail covered mountain in the distance, and the clock tower in the village.
L.M. Pampuro 