It’s snowing steadily outside my office window, partially obscuring the bare-limbed locust tree. A single crow flaps heavily through the fat flakes. Yesterday Joseph, Thomas, and I skied up to a quiet meadow above Hobblecreek Canyon. On the way down Joseph barreled over a ridge with seventeen-year-old abandon and plummeted down a steep slope until he threw himself backward to disappear in a flurry of powder right next to where my sweeping turn had run me into some scrub oak. Thomas crashed just below us, and we lay there, the three of us, gasping for air at first, smiling and gasping, and finally whooping deliriously. We got up and sliced down through stands of aspens, powder snow hissing around our knees. Wool-scented warmth in the car on the way home.
[from Immortal for Quite Some Time]