I am on board the Paris-Zurich train for a weekend of snow and ski. The bunny hill and ski instructor will probably feature prominently in the next few days seeing as this will be my first time skiing. Growing up in Florida, skiing always seemed like such a terribly exotic (and privileged) thing to do. And wearing my recently-purchased ski goggles around the house the past few days still made it feel that way. But I love how strange I feel when I say “I am going skiing.” Before time and repetition erode and render mundane the mystery of existence, I want to experience as many new things as possible. So off I go. To ski. To watch water metamorphose into snow. I will navigate the beginner course with the 5-year olds. I hope that it will help me to begin to measure the distance between ocean and snow.
2 comments:
... turning is over rated, hitting the ground doesn't really hurt when you have that many layers on - its the trees you have to watch out for, always pick the runs that end close to the lodge, never let your tips cross, and enjoy the view especially while on the lift....
i like the metamorphoses of self into words -yours - and those words into ideas - for your readers. slide down that hill with the five year olds and your heart of desire. you are right that life is found in wonder and mystery. and keep your toes warm and dry while deep within its heart.
you are cold and covered with snow and i am cold and surrounded by turkish sunshine.
write more!
happy skiing to my beloved!
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