And so now it can be said, felt, acknowledged and celebrated: Winter. It finally is here.
But that doesn’t mean that many of us are approaching the fresh snow of this most glorious of seasons from a standing start. Not at all. We’ve been in a ski crouch — able to absorb imaginary bumps, ready for quick turns on a sharp incline — for months now.
And it didn’t require the six inches of snow that fell across northern Vermont and southern Quebec in mid-November to stoke our ski instincts. Never fully dormant, those instincts and impulses had been baking for months, under the sunshine of July, the cool nights of August, the autumn breezes of September, the creeping chill of October.
For while skiing is a sport of action, it also is one of anticipation. And in skiing as in love, the anticipation is a sentiment of great poignance — and great power.