Slopes

Slopes,

Blinding in the bluebird weather

Alabaster white

Brighter than a diamond’s flash

And colder than the night,

Radiant and dazzling

Opulent with shine

Glinting with anticipation

Sparkling in the light,

Towering above the town

And piercing through the sky

Like a frozen solid curtain

With a soft protective might

Fatally inviting

***

Lines,

Like water droplets locked in pairs

Gliding down the hills

With freshies for the first arrivers

Seeking out some thrills,

Intertwining rapidly

As hazards lead to spills

Swerving on and off piste

All around but never still,

Carving tracks and marking runs

And generating chills

Like an icy brush on canvas

For the bums to show their skills

Winding down and twisting

***

Points,

At the peak of each Norway Spruce

Reaching through the air,

Like a layer of animal fur

As seen above the chairs,

Snowfall piled on the branches

Looks clean beyond compare

Though it took a raging blizzard

For it to settle there,

Peaceful as a dormant threat

With no one near to scare

Lying picturesque in waiting

For a casualty to snare

Immovable yet spreading

***

Cycles,

Repeating themselves

But never in quite the same way

This scene will be set

In a different take every day,

Patterns changing slightly

As the boards and seasons change

Each piece of clientele

Won’t see the full array,

As snowstorms pass through town

That tourists have cold feet to face

The bums bear through it

Relishing the pleasure of the chase

Reborn and never ending