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The Summit MAG
The Summit
The gondola lurched forward as my stomach began to turn
Heading toward the looming icy summit
The happy faces of the people below became
smaller and smaller
Just me and my dad staring out the window at the snow-covered
Green trees bending with the strong wind
The lift came to a sudden stop
Doors opened to the howling wind and flying ice
Scratching my skin and encouraging my fear
Everything was white but not
sparkling in the sun
like the snow I had skied on before
My father sped off into the daunting white.
The only sound was the shrieking wind;
my call to my father was only a squeak
so small in such a vast place
My limbs became numb as the swirling ice and thick snow
found a way into my boots and mittens
I began to slowly slide forward into the white expanse
the path that my father had left behind him
I struggled through the windswept whiteness
foggy goggles blurring my vision as
I finally fell at my father’s feet
Sprawled on the ice with a frozen face but
independent
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A picture of my dad and me on the top of a ski mountain inspired me to write this poem. The poem represents becoming independent and learning to thrive on your own.