Blinding light
Grey majestic peaks
Shivering snow. Powdery and perfect.
Smiles through big blue tinted ski goggles
I can feel the adrenaline
The silence and camaraderie
The tiredness at the end of the day
The sheer splendor of the mountains.
My heart aches
as I see these gorgeous view
only in pictures.
Is it jealousy?
Is it self pity?
I can only recognize the winter depression
The grey at the end of a long dry winter
The dawn is always the coldest.
- Do you ski?
- Nope. Not our sport of choice.
The echo of this question lingers.
Should I make an effort?
If I thought skiing was important
I’d figure out a way to give the experience to my kids
But I wouldn’t do it out of pleasure
But out of duty
Like most things I do these days.
They haven’t even asked for it.
I wallow in numbness
I think maybe being on the slopes would help.
My parents even tried to entice us to go somewhere.
Too late. Haven’t made any plans.
I have no energy to plan anything fun.
And yet, this fear of missing out
Which was never my weakness
I’m starting to doubt my own path
So as I snowed for an hour south of Cluj
We embarked on a day trip into the mountains
Hoping we’ll catch some white
And we did. And we hiked.
We all pursue higher grounds
And we endure some sort of pain for a bit of gain
Our choice yet again
Is the lame path up to the grota
With mumbles and frozen toes
Breathing heavily the cold air
My heart still heavy
But there is silence.
I have a furry hat on
that muffles most sounds, most voices.
On the way back the girls fall on their bums
but at the lesser incline they use the sled and it’s fun.
This is such a lame way to chase winter
Nobody in sight on the mountain. It’s only us.
The other people are gone skiing.
And my heart is still heavy with guilt
For not doing more
But any more doing and I’d waste away.
We came home tired.
I cooked red sauce turkey meat with pasta.
It was delicious.
Then we watched a movie and we called it a day.
This was the best day
in very depressive lineup of groundhog days
And I can’t wait for green to poke through this dead grass.
I’m so done with winter. So done.