First Signs Of Spring
The school on the hill was a magical place. I was stranger in a strange land. There were certain times though, I found great joy in camaraderie. Mostly, I was a multitude of one weaving through the crowd.
There is snow falling in huge flakes that are barely visible in the stark white morning as I peek out my dorm window at 5 am. No one else is up. I get dressed and push open the snowbound door with stealth and determination.
Borrowing Dave’s Head skis leaning against the wall outside I shuffle up the hill to the crest of the ridge out back that overlooks the woods, pause for a look at the breathless beauty of it all. I push off.
The only sound I hear is the slip, slip, whish-sound of the skis in the wet snow. I feel like I am flying, surrounded in a kind of delightful white purity with soft puffy snowflakes gently peppering my face. I can’t stop laughing. If you were standing on that very crest of the hill with your rosy cheeks, cozy in your goose down parka you would have seen me disappear down the trails into the woods.
I was very late for class.
They were often heavy winters facing Parker Mountain in Center Strafford, New Hampshire. I didn’t mind. I skied in the snow-dusted dawn.
One of the shared moments that I savored every year that I attended was the first warm day that you could take your shirt off outside in springtime. It was a revelation, almost a rite of passage, a reward for having endured the cold and snow. A few pals and I would hitchhike down to Bow Lake on a Saturday morning sit on the rocks and soak up the suns warming rays. Here’s to Bow Lake and that moment.
This is an oil and watercolor on board 17" x 27" Thank you for looking at my art today. https://alanphillipstudio.com/ stop by my website to see more of my Coastal Journey if you like this please share it with your friends. You can now follow my art/photography and writing on Facebook also!
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All art/ writing/photography © 2017 Alan Phillips