Mountain KingThe lip emerges from the flurry of snow
My adversary lurks just beyond its edge.
I am far away from other trails on the mountain.
I am alone.
I feel the deep freeze in the air as it assaults my skin.
Rogue snowflakes glide through an opening in my jacket down my back.
I breathe in and out deeply, fogging my precious goggles in the process.
Memories of my unsuccessful first attempt at my foe linger.
The trees most certainly remember our disastrous collision; they seek revenge.
I slowly glide to the edge of the lip with my overly expensive skis.
All 164 centimeters of them are anxious – my allies in the war with the mountain.
My fingers are cold.
I glance around and plunge into the powdery forest that awaits me.
I am swallowed by the white abyss.
I conquer my foe.
I skied the trail.
I am king of the mountain.
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]
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