Skis

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

Upon the snowy slopes, so wide and long,
A pair of skis, where winter hearts belong.
They glide with grace, through cold, crisp air,
Made of fibers mixed with expert care.

Bindings hold the boots so tight,
Alpine skis descend with delight.
Cross-country cousins, narrow and light,
Travel flatter lands, through day and night.

Wood and metal, craft and design,
Each ski a marvel, sleek and fine.
For racing fast or freestyle play,
Skis carry souls, on snow they sway.

Don’t ask me why ‘skis’ first came to mind,

Perhaps a yearning for slopes, snow-lined.

Or memories of laughter, crisp and clear,

Echoing through frosted air we hold dear.

Is it the thrill of a downhill race?

Or the peaceful glide in a quiet place?

In each swift turn, a joy we find—

That’s why ‘skis’ sketched first in my mind.

Upon the vast and lonely drifts, they lie,
A pair of skis, beneath the weeping sky.
They carve their path, where silence roars,
In a world of white, where the cold implores.

Bindings clutch with a desperate grip,
As alpine skis through dimensions slip.
Their cross-country kin, so frail yet bold,
Traverse the quiet plains, in whispers told.

Crafted from the earth, yet soaring through frost,
Each ski a contradiction, in the snowflakes lost.
They race towards stillness, swift and keen,
In the dance of shadows, barely seen.

Don’t ask me why ‘skis’ echoed in my soul,
Maybe in their tracks, I find myself whole.
Is it the rush of escaping the mundane?
Or finding peace, where paradoxes reign?

Through each carved turn, a mystery unwinds,
In the frostbitten air, where passion binds.
That’s why ‘skis’ first danced through my mind,
A riddle wrapped in winter, intricately entwined.