Spring Skiing Sonnet

The sun beats brighter than it did last month, with mercury up in the low forties, my time is running out for winter fun, March is such a bittersweet time to ski. Brown stains in the snow still left by the base, bare spots and granite poke out here and there, the white ribbons that once streamed with cool grace have now taken on a more mottled air. Wet snow is heavy, clumps of soft cement, pushing it ’round brings fire to my legs, time for the sort powder had came and went, and all that’s left is the half-melted dregs. For us skiers it’s just a sad decay, then nine months of warmth until we can play...