the crack on my windshield is growing longer, it's that time of year for the ski industry road crew. My food groups conists of potato chips, fountain soda, coffe and candy. I can hear myself getting fatter as the automated cruise control stomps the gas pedal from Colorado to who the hell knows where. Stops in small towns, trade shows, hotel rooms, friendly people. big trucks, snowy roads- no skiing. I'm caged, my mind races, my body fights back.
Finally, it's time to ski again. Sluggish, out of breath, out of touch.The sound of the road is drowned out by the sound of the mountain, the snow. Later there's sweat, my feet hurt, but I'm slowly calming, reconneting to the landscape. I'm present again, relaxed, moving.
k
