To every thing, we are taught in the Bible, there is a season. For skiers, that is a good thing, for we depend on the turning of the season — from fall to winter — for our sport.
But there are seasons to our lives as well, and seasons to our ski lives.
In our first ski seasons, we are tentative. Sometimes we are cold, often we cry. We struggle with our boots, and our bindings, and the skis don’t seem to move, even when french fries and pizzas are invoked. Later we grow in confidence, and in the challenges we take on the slopes; it is that period when older skiers look with abject fear upon teenagers on the trail, and I know some — denizens of yet another season on the slopes — who avoid some ski resorts entirely because they are the playground of those teens. You know who you are, and you know where they are.
And then there is serene season. That’s where, and when, I’m skiing now.