Devlin C.

Mountain King

The 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.


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.