The old chairlift creaked and swayed gently
as the crisp morning flurries nipped at the rosy, red cheeks of the young girl.
Her grandmother sat to the left and her grandfather to the right.
Both of them had their arms wrapped tightly around her, attempting to keep her warm.
They sat in silence and watched the mountain grow in front of them.
The bright sun illuminated every aspect: the smooth coating of ice that clung to the trees,
and the conformity of every neatly groomed trail.
The previous snow had left a fresh layer of powder
that wordlessly begged them to disrupt its purity.
At the peak, they looked down and out over
the mountain, the town, and the valley that seemed to stretch on forever.
The sky taunted them, dangling just out of reach,
and the overwhelming panorama reminded them how small they were
—even at the highest points.
- Emma Colby's blog
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Dec 11, 2018
Emma, you make beautiful connections in this poem -- the grandparents hugging the little girl between them on the creaky old chairlift, the connection with the mountain and the appreciation and awe of the "overwhelming panorama." I love the ending, the humility of realizing how small we are in nature, in the mountains, "even at the highest points." I'll take these thoughts with me to the mountain this winter. Thank you!