Chair Lift

[a poem inspired by the Totally Optional Prompt, "Places"]



Chair Lift


Pines wear white caps,
and snowy stoles draped on branches,
while naked maple limbs
sparkle with icy glitter.
The light is dazzling
through my dark goggles.
Even the cold air I breathe
is bright with inner radiance,
filling me with buoyancy.

My first ride up
is rarely like that,
my muscles stiff,
full of kinks and crankiness
lodged in my corners
after a night spent
in a borrowed bed,
and the oh-so-possible
probability
of being the slowest one
in the group.

But the next ride up,
having outpaced doubt,
and run off the rust,
with endorphins pumping
me full of ease,
could last twice as long
and maybe it does.
My shoulders and brain relax
even as I pull
the turtle-fur over my nose
and zip up the crackling parka,
much louder in the deep cold,
than on a milder day.

I float up the mountain
weightless as a paper airplane,
suspended above scratchy skis
on icy slopes,
my office-bound eyes freed
to drink in this mountain
and the next one over.
I sit in the moment
and delight
in a fine excuse
to spend the whole day
outside.