It is winter, a cold morning on top of the mountain, the freshly fallen snow gently covers the buildings. The sunlight slowly illuminates the hills, revealing the groomers trudging along as they prepare for a long day. There is a chain of cars, steadily crawling up the winding ski road. The lights of the main building are turned on, and they flicker several times before they finally begin to provide light.
Listen, can you hear the ski lifts creak into action, the newly installed chairs begin their first journey, the first of many for the day, on the first day of many in the season. They look new now, but before long the leather seats will be worn, and the frame will slowly become disfigured. The chairlift queue swells, as people slowly filter across to it, eager to begin their day of skiing on the fresh powder. The rocks that can usually be seen to the sides of the trails are now invisible, hidden from the eye by the icy crust of snow.
If you look up the ski slopes, you can see dozens of small figures, whizzing down the hill at various speeds, recognisable only by the small splashes of colour on an otherwise plain background. There are small flicks of snow trailing behind the people, kicked up by the harsh edges of their skis
The murky grey clouds, slowly wander across the sky, covering and revealing the sun at will, changing the weather conditions dramatically whenever they shift. The sun is dim today, it lacks its usual intensity, and this is made worse by the thick fog is threatening to close in on the secluded valley, unaware of the front that is on its way, that is inevitable.
Again, Listen, the silence that was once only broken by the chairlifts mechanical movement, is now complete. The chairlift has stopped, the chairs now sit there, swinging nauseously above the white nothingness. There are shrieks and screams from the occupants of the chair, as the cold wind harshly flows past them, cutting into any exposed skin that is left out for the elements. The chairs begin to swing into motion again, but their movement seems laboured now, like something has gone very wrong, every metre seems like it takes an hour to cross, as the chairs painfully carry their occupants up to the top of the mountain, where they will then have to make their way down the mountain, in the worst conditions possible, not only is it windy but the clouds have now fully descended, enclosing the mountain in a prison of what seems like white nothingness.
The snow begins to fall, slow at first, from a distance they just look like small white spheres but upon closer inspection, you can see the intricate detailing upon each and every one. As they begin to fall faster and more frequently people on the mountain begin to take notice, pulling their balaclavas over their faces in order to escape the harsh edge of the elements, and they begin to ski that wee bit faster in order to limit their time out in the elements. the ski lifts begin to operate slower, as their insides begin to freeze over as if they had been dunked in an icy lake. The mountain is unpredictable, and choosing to ski is putting yourself at the mercy of the mountain, and today the mountain was not kind to you.
Great read Ben ??