Last Snow of the Season

Endless purgatorial descent,
I burn and twist and stop again.
No silent bliss here, no chase of thrills.
The pleasing swish is watered down.
Nothing effortless about this glide:
My feet disgraced in strange contortions.
I will them left and they swing right.
I merely linger through the motions.

Snow in Switzerland

An older poem today, as I’ve been busy all week skiing with my children during the half-term holidays. Intense, hard work (on all sides), but ultimately I hope it will have been worth it!


7 thoughts on “Last Snow of the Season”

  1. Love that, Marina Sofia – you really made me feel what that’s like. Quite an achievement, since I’ve never skied. And sadly, it also seems to work as a fine metaphor for ageing…

  2. That is a very good insight from FictionFan… the poem did feel to me like it was describing aging or at least slowing down in one’s life, the difficulties. Skiing has always appealed because I used to water ski but I don’t think I will ever will partake in that sport.

    1. The subconscious thought must have been there, I suppose. Funny how the poem always seems to know more than our conscious mind, doesn’t it?
      Now water-skiing terrifies me… well done for being able to do it!

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