The Skier

She reveled in the bumps on the runs, the burn of snow against her wrists. Each time I saw her fall, cheeks glowing in the wind, she lifted the whitewashed cap from her eyes, grinning at the spectacle of scattered skis and poles as I crisscrossed the hill, gathering the gear. Once I reached her, she would steady herself on my shoulder to fit her boot to the binding, stamping her heel into the lock. Soon, she’d drop into a corridor flanked by jagged rocks, bobbing among the moguls, her hair flickering against the black ice. The bruised cheeks were nothing new, she said when she called, but this time her man had dealt the blow. Then she laughed, as if wiping snow from her face — the first time I could not recover what she had lost, weave my way to her side, and return it all. If you know of someone who would appreciate my series, why not gift a subscription for 2024? This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joshuadolezal.substack.com/subscribe