Mountains

Summer:

A drive up pikes peak marked the start of an amazing day.

The sound of small rivers flowing down the mountain, the smell of pine in the air.

Finally my brother , my dad , and I reached the peaks, while it was a hot summer at the base, the peaks were coated with fluffy white snow. And when the light hit it the reflection was            too bright to look at.

An impossible snowball fight in July brought to life.

Fall:

Looking for a waterfall, but seeing the roaring mountains.

A seven mile hike ahead, up a 14,000 foot mountain.

Reaching to the top, gasping in the non-existent air.

Jumping in the frozen, frostbite water, peaking at 40 degrees.

Shivering my body, chattering my teeth, trembling in the sun.

Winter:

The sound of the hydraulic chairlift coming around the corner to pick me up gives me butterflies in my stomach.

Rising all the way to the top and taking in a deep breath of thin air at 13,000 feet in the air with frigid snow under my boots.

I strap up my snowboard and bomb the hill increasing in speed as I race to the bottom

Spring:

On the horizon, mountain ice, snow melts, trickling.

Birds signal spring’s arrival in a chorus of tweets and chirps.

No longer a time of skiing, now, hikers dot the trails and the path turns from snow to green.