Bliss

The big red box is bigger now. But that is perhaps the most profound change of all, which is to say it's all much the same as how I left it. And how I always leave it. We don't skip a beat either, with endless powder turns on A and the Doglegs and Four Pines. My passion is creeping back in, almost overflowing. But perhaps still put in check as memories of flecks of kneecap are always in my subconscious. And that's probably a good thing - because there are things in my life that are more important than tales of Central at the VC.

But when it all goes blue, it's hard to be anywhere but here. Bardon yells "I LOVE SKIING" at the top of his lungs to the tram line - and even in their silence every other person is thinking the same thing, and loving him for saying it.

There is more to life than Love and Mountains. But it really only seems that way when I'm not loving or I'm not skiing. When she's with me, there's nowhere I'd rather be. And when I'm surrounded in white, capped in blue, and watching that red box float by, this is all there is and all there needs to be. If only they could both happen together - then this would truly be bliss.