Crash Landing

Snowball red
Burns past trees
Icy ski slope

A hidden hill
Weightless air
I soar, landing

Staring up
Blue sky
A calm quiet
Waking hands
Rescue warm
Burning ice
Skin pink
Raw alive
Do you miss the ski

The rush of flight
Succumbs to snow
I miss that quiet

This poem came from reflections on rushing through life- is it really those fast adrenaline-filled flights we will look back on? Though I have enjoyed fast downhill runs, sometimes those quiet moments where we can’t do anything (trapped in snow) bring a unique and deep calm.


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