Winter Warriors

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There is a breath of snow. The air is true.
As skiers hike the slopes of Mt. Tallac,
arrayed in peacock hues of green and blue,
to stand upon the vaulted mountain back.

Surveying slopes of pristine snow, and rock
crevasses, shining white, to bid adieu
to summertimes bounty, pine and bracken.
There is a breath of snow. The air is true.

Beneath deep azure skies they line in queues,
to wade through frozen drifts of snow, and pack
their gear across thick fields of ice, or slush,
as skiers hike the slopes of Mt. Tallac.

Aware of shifting winds, or sudden crack.
The raging avalanche debris, or flume,
announcing mother nature’s swift attack.
Arrayed in peacock hues of green and blue,

the fearless young advance the line, and plumb
their sights upon the challenge of the track,
as swift they climb with nimble grace, and crew,
to stand upon the vaulted mountain back.

Triumphant in their feat, no easy trick
to best Tallac, and then, to spiral through
thick drifts of pristine powder white, and back,
traversing frozen meadows far below.
There is a breath of snow.

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