Powder (day 220)

It starts with a clip
Then follows by a push
Along the ridge
We traverse the face
Finding speed in
Little jumps for gravity
And then
When all seems to far and gone
When all boundaries have been crossed
The drop
Fresh powder filled turns
Eating up my presence
My full being enveloped in each turn
Swooping, whooping, and cruising
Until the trees are reached
Then, a galloping piece of radical history
Works it’s way through tight corners
Finding around blind trees
Little pockets of untouched glory
This never gets old
This will never end
This is the search that life is for

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