Hi Dale, thanks for coming by and your sweet comments. It is so hard losing a pet. Wow, what a great photo of Pete! Was he looking at you? take care, xx Grace
*squeak*...*squelch*....right...just get these sweaty PVC pants offf....phew...comfort again...hah! here I am! OK Dale! Great pic of Pete...bet he was pointing you out for all the rest to see who one of his greatest fans is...the other ones of course are Anne Marie and PTfan....but they weren't there, so it had to be YOU for the WHO!!!
The landscape, surrounded by whispers of snow, and the occasional glimmer of dancing sunlight, as it kisses the clouds.
Standing before me, beckoning me, like the siren’s call, of the ancient mariner.
Drawing me out, upon the steep pitch, coaxing me ever closer to the abyss of pleasure.
I ascend into the chute, careening like a bowling ball, thrown downward, bouncing, picking up speed by the second.
I stick my pole, deep into the virgin snow, which had yet to be tracked that day.
Feeling it sink, then suddenly take hold, I turn, and before my eyes, is the euphoric rush, of seeing nothing but the trees, entrenched into the rock wall, like centurions poised to repel attack.
The ski’s under my feet become weightless, I hang ever so delicately, in the sweet embrace of gravity.
I feel the air rushing around me, the kaleidoscope of colors, that once, was the rock wall, flashes by.
My eyes begin to focus, forever it seems, I’m free of the restraints that bind me to the earth.
Abruptly, my descent stops, jarred back into reality, my legs start pumping again, I slide into the next turn, and start the whole process over again.
I would like for you, to explain to me, what it is that so enthralls you, about strapping on a two by four with rope, and go flailing, with reckless abandon down a hill.
Hi Dale, thanks for coming by and your sweet comments. It is so hard losing a pet.
ReplyDeleteWow, what a great photo of Pete! Was he looking at you?
take care, xx Grace
LOL Grace... I wish!
ReplyDeletehe's pointing at you dale...saying you! yeah you!..dale of blogdum..
ReplyDeletewere they your knickers ive just untangled from my guitar!...
Great picture. I wish I was that close to him when I saw him last week.
ReplyDeleteYes they were Gypsy... he kept them!
ReplyDeleteI WAS that close - but it's not my photo.
Nicked it from his site, I did...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeletethey are his lucky charm from now on..although a bit small to find..a piece of pvc string no less..
ReplyDeleteDale, WHO is that? ::giggles and then groans at her own goofy joke::
ReplyDelete~Lace~
*squeak*...*squelch*....right...just get these sweaty PVC pants offf....phew...comfort again...hah! here I am! OK Dale! Great pic of Pete...bet he was pointing you out for all the rest to see who one of his greatest fans is...the other ones of course are Anne Marie and PTfan....but they weren't there, so it had to be YOU for the WHO!!!
ReplyDeleteLace, you know better! ;)
ReplyDeleteAnd Val, you sweat all the way over here to show off your new PVC - I am flattered.
It looks so shiny and uncomfortable!
Yeah, you!
ReplyDeleteHe is just the unghiest 61 year old ever.
Now all you need to see is Pete on skies pointing at you with his pole because he needs your help to get down the hill.
ReplyDeleteHe travelled to your neck of the woods because he read all your blogs and fell in love with your photos of the region and view of 1000 peaks.
Yes Dale...'s horrible! I think I'll put PVC down to experience and revert to form...lol...nice sloppy faded denim ;-)
ReplyDeleteRush over to Koos's spot: He Has Broken His Silence!
ReplyDeleteThe Man is such a weakling,
ReplyDeleteStop shitting on your own doorstep.
ReplyDeleteLanguage!
ReplyDeleteMmmm Mmmm Mmmm!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteThat happened to me once with Joe Strummer of The Clash. I'll never forget it. Didn't get a pic though.
XO
Zoe
a skiing poem by Jim Vaughn
ReplyDeleteThe landscape, surrounded by whispers of snow, and the occasional glimmer of dancing sunlight, as it kisses the clouds.
Standing before me, beckoning me, like the siren’s call, of the ancient mariner.
Drawing me out, upon the steep pitch, coaxing me ever closer to the abyss of pleasure.
I ascend into the chute, careening like a bowling ball, thrown downward, bouncing, picking up speed by the second.
I stick my pole, deep into the virgin snow, which had yet to be tracked that day.
Feeling it sink, then suddenly take hold, I turn, and before my eyes, is the euphoric rush, of seeing nothing but the trees, entrenched into the rock wall, like centurions poised to repel attack.
The ski’s under my feet become weightless, I hang ever so delicately, in the sweet embrace of gravity.
I feel the air rushing around me, the kaleidoscope of colors, that once, was the rock wall, flashes by.
My eyes begin to focus, forever it seems, I’m free of the restraints that bind me to the earth.
Abruptly, my descent stops, jarred back into reality, my legs start pumping again, I slide into the next turn, and start the whole process over again.
I would like for you, to explain to me, what it is that so enthralls you, about strapping on a two by four with rope, and go flailing, with reckless abandon down a hill.