Dropoff

They sit, breathing heavily, watching the silence spread out before them. Lines of deep footprints lead up the steep incline behind, tracing their weary path. Beyond that people pack and bustle, herded like cattle between low metal fences, pushing just to hold position.

But up there, they are free. Only pure, clear air lies ahead, stretching for miles. Below them the ground drops steeply away, a face of crystalline perfection aching to be marked. A fringe of trees marks the foot, with the road just beyond. No words are exchanged. None are needed. The simple perfection of the moment says everything, and more.

The moment lingers, and laughter passes through the group as a decision is made. A breath is taken, then released. Hands touch ground, pushing away as legs stiffen. Weight shifts, and motion is established, flowing onwards in gracious arcs. Spray catches the eyes and cools the skin, drawing exhilerated gasps. All is lost in a sea of white, one sole thought in perfect harmony with its surroundings.

The slope begins to ease, and body with it, strain leaking from every muscle. Eyes shift back, tracing the curving helix back to its origin. Others pick their way down, leaving their own unique tattoo on the mountain's winter coat. Fingers dig through weightless powder, looking for purchase. Feet release, and step deeper than before.

One last look upward brings only one thought to mind.

Again.