I unpack my skiing gear
Maybe for the last time
Throwing on my bright colored jacket
I head outside where my skis are at rest

Opening the rough wooden door
I see that the trees aren’t bare
As I hobble down the wet watery steps
Grabbing my skis I go to the slopes

Skiing to the chair lift
I watch the seat swing around
Feeling the sun, the lift carries me off my feet
Thinking about how many days are left

Getting to the top, I swifty ski down
Hearing the wind pierce my ears
While glances of grass catch my eye
Approaching the bottom, I skid to a stop

As the sun goes south, my goosebumps get bigger
I start to think about leaving these hills
Just one more run, or maybe two
As the skiers thin, I silently drift down the last slope