Two feet of fresh and the quest
for first tracks begins,
the line starts, snaking across frozen ice
In the front, an old man dressed in aged apparel
Still sporting leather three pins,
a mountain man beard
and shapeless boards,
Next to him a teenager, in the new neon suit
A full face helmet,
and the K2 Rocker Skis, a foot wide
and tails that rise 6 inches,
7 a.m., 2 below, The sun
has not yet made its appearance
over the canyon’s edge,
Small conversation passes the time,
Hey whats up, where are you headed?
keeping their mind off the wait,
every mechanical sound forces a reaction,
all are fidgeting, all are waiting
New friends are made in that short moment
Ice crystals form on beards, snow pants
begin to freeze, fingertips chill
The smell of coffee and bagels permeate the air
Town has just awakened, slowly creaking to life
Steamy jets of breath are seen everywhere
The daily Telluride wait is nearing its end
Fischer Hazen
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