Sighs. Aspirations. Breath

I long for the glistening, august mountains of the frigid northern lands;
For the white, shimmering innocence of the fresh, unspoiled snow;
For the crisp, celestial glimpse of the pristine midnight sky;
For the clear, glassy splendor of the flowing crystal ice,
Its delicate strength transparently captivating.

I ache for the wonderful rush of wonder, joy, fear, as I fly
Down the soft, slippery slopes with practiced ease and deliberate movements
And watch as the magnificent landscape flees before me
With soft and quiescent swiftness.

I yearn for the richly splendid radiance and the vibrant, resonant eminence;
I thirst for the cold, majestic beauty and the divine, serene glory
That heaven deemed christen Winter.

                                                                                                                            
                                                                                                                                      July 4, 2012