Walls of Freedom
The hard wind lashes the log cabin and the window pains cry out a gentle rattle. I glance outside and witness the finest gift a skier can receive; fresh snow, and two feet of it according to the weather report. The thick odor of hot steaming wax fills the room as I take my iron and glide it across the base of my Gotama's. The wax slides then becomes a soft crust on the base before my eyes, the top sheets are starting to warm up, time to scrape. Crusty curls of wax loosen up and drop to the creaking wooden floor with a soft sound as I scrape with a razor blade. Across the room a fire is snapping and hissing at the wood it consumes, radiating a warm glowing heat that tingles my face. I hang my skis up on the ancient wooden racks and go to the kitchen. Clock says 10:36. The fridge sends a chill down my back as I open it up and reach for the cold cuts. Opening the ham causes my mouth to swell up and my stomach growls with hunger. I throw together a quick sandwich and scarf it down ravenously. I decide to step outside for a smoke and enjoy the fresh powder accumulating by the minute. The dense warm smoke fills my lungs and with a relaxing exhalation I feel the mood begin to set in for tomorrow. I see myself making perfect turns, and dropping those perfect cliffs, all is perfect. After a few more puffs I pinch it out and save the rest for the morning. Sitting there on the deck I watch the snow fall on the banister, continuously growing, the wall of freedom I like to call it. The higher the wall, the more free you can be. The rasping wind is starting to chap my lips and brighten my nose so I steal away to the warmth of the house and the fire and let the walls grow in peace. Tomorrow will be epic I think to myself before the sounds of the wind and the fire are consumed by fatigue and darkness.
i think i think i like it like thata
*Official Martha Stewert of NS*