Poetry

Morning
feeling the cold air
hearing the lift and birds.
Snow sparkling like diamonds.
On the first slope I see my shadow.
Off piste powder flying all over you.
Lying in the sun smelling the wood smoke.
Tasting the cheese.
Seeing the sun set from the hut.
Making the last slope through the woods.
Hearing the fire and dogs barking.
Feeling again that special cold air.

Julius C., S3EN

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s