Gazing

Gazing across fields of white shrouds
the tips of our cross-country skis buried,
deep snow clings to pants, wet with sweat and caked with ice,
our tired breath hanging like clouds.

Clouds above are fluffy and light
as we glide along happy, our hearts free.
Emotions swirl about us like the snow that blows,
tickles our senses, all is right.

Right now, snowy fields downward slope
leading us past a lonely gazebo,
a guard watching silent o'er cold, slate-gray waters.
We approach, our souls filled with hope.

Hope blossoms like fires blazing,
this pristine setting becomes our refuge.
Nature envelops us, void of cares in this world.
We're alone, our senses gazing.