Skiing

The long-awaited, fondly thought-of mid-term break began last Saturday. I got up early, swallowed some oatmeal porridge, and bolted into the silent, snowy woods for a ski.



I hadn't been on skis for years, so at first I felt strange and unsteady. I was a bit disappointed in the absence of sunlight, but perhaps it was just as well: if it had been sunny, I probably would have gone snowblind in fifteen minutes.



I used to love skiing downhill, gathering speed and feeling the wind on my face. But, as I said, it had been a long time since I was last on skis...



... and as a result, I fell over twice. First time intentionally, because the speed was more than I had bargained for, second time un-, because...well, I think I simply lost faith and gave up. It was marvellous, though, and there was enough snow to guarantee a soft landing.



I had read on the news that a lone bear had woken up early and gone roaming about the woods. I didn't run into it, but what I did run into was a solitary hut, in the middle of nowhere... The abode of a mad recluse?



However, no recluse, mad or otherwise, intercepted me en route, and I made it back to my parents' house - the minute the sun showed its brilliant face. Our dog, Pella, was basking in the light and warmth, clearly not making much of darting around the forest on two wooden boards.



I left my skies out in the garden and went inside, rosy-cheeked and happy, to enjoy a large cup of hot chocolate. A morning well spent!