CROSS-COUNTRY

Through an avenue of trees

we slipped

cold snow squeaked

beneath our long, thin skis.

Underneath featherbeds of white

fir arms bent dowm

and brushed our shoulders

as we passed between.

We heard the rustling

of the birds

saw tracks of deer

one small, gray squirrel

ran by in fear

of who we were

two-legged creatures

in his silent world.

We reached the open meadow

sun on crystal snow

felt the sharp cold bite of wind.

Then with a rhythmic flow

of motion glided slowly down

to find protected

woods below.

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We have been meeting up with some of our college friends from Boston for the past six years in Breckinridge Colorado.

We all enjoy cross-country skiing

We 'll be going again in March.