Skis on feet, pack on back,
she glides as if she were floating,
across fields turned out to pastures of snow,
summer detail now winter vastness,
light pale and greenish
the world silent with life.
From here, who notices
the flex in her knees,
the bend at the waist,
the arching of shoulders
as she nudges each pole
into the sheen
to propel her forward.
Such an even, comfortable line she takes,
as long and slim
as her lithe body,
worth more than a nod
from the grizzled ice fishermen
and this plodding amateur
she leaves in her ripple-less wake.
Add to all else about her –
the seamlessness,
the seemliness,
the cares that are not of this world,
the speed at which she poses.
