Winter

Chill permeates the frost-covered grass

And bare trees rustle quietly.

Grey skies loom, threatening war

And wind slices your breath

When it leaves your lips.

A snowflake falls.

Zip your coat,

Winter’s

Here.

 

Photo courtesy of Paul Green at Unsplash

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First Chair

The cool air pressed firmly against her skin between the layers of warm cotton. Despite the mountain’s familiarity, her teeth still clanked together from more than just the cold.

“I can do this,” she said.

Exhaling, she watched her breath form a tiny cloud in front of her face. She pulled her Burton mittens farther onto her hands and strapped her feet into place, heel after toe, with two loud clicks.

Using her poles, she pushed towards the wooden seats rotating up towards the sky. Her confident posture returned, gliding on the snow.

Ready for first chair of the season.