Raymond A. Foss Poems

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High up at the top of the chairlift
at the summit of the mountain,
the trees were coated, as with larger amounts of clay
with snow and ice, layer on layer
from mother nature and the snow guns of man
the trees carried the load with aplomb
graceful, statuesque, white,
hiding their evergreens
Skiing between these canyons of snow
groves of, forests of these frozen sentinels
quiet above the din of the lodge, of the open
lower slopes, trails, of the ski area
up here, with the blue sky so close as to touch it
the air so cold, so clear
magical in the peacefulness, tranquility
up in the short encrusted trees
at the top of the mountain

November 24, 2006 20:15

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