A Morning at the Ski Hill:

9:00 am  The warm sun drifts wistfully,in and out of the soft grey clouds.The long skeleton fingersand warm shadow mittensreach out-then melt-enveloped in a common greyness.The mountains sit,placidly,comfortably.Their pristine robeunsullied,unmarred.waiting quietly.The multicoloured Beesof he's and she's,buzz busily.Flitting here, flitting there.9:30 am  The purity of the shroud has been pierced.The first patterns emerge.The bright Beesstart their busy descending andthe mountains are transforming from silent observers to active participants.10:00 am  The pace quickens!Time, patterns disappear!Flitting, flowing!Anticipation, excitement, anxiety pervades the clusters.Brightly coloured Bees gatherthen ascend.10:30 am    The Bees bunch calmly.Sifting through!carried; click, hum, up, up, up,to the thrilling nectar of a quick descent.11:00 am    The patterns become inevitable, inevitable, inevi...Clustering,sifting,ascending,plunging downward. Written October 23rd, 2001 © on Oct 23 2001 06:53 AM PST   10 • 0 • 13