The Ski Journal - Volume 16, Issue 1
SLOPE OPERA
Words: Michael “Izzy” Israelson 2022-09-09 13:49:41
Skier and season, a love affair as complex—and beautiful—as the Mountain West snowpack. Photo: Ryan Creary
She nuzzles in close. Not too close, just the right amount of close, the head-on-the-shoulder technique that implies familiarity after a long separation. She whispers to me, “I don’t care about the rest of the world. It doesn’t matter.”
I reply coyly, the words hanging frozen on the air, “Why did you leave me?”
“Because it’s what I do. Because it’s what I always do,” she says.
My heart a mixture of longing and defiance, I knew I needed to feel her touch right then. Even through my mittens. “I know it is,” I continue. “It’s good to see you.”
Like a breeze, she brushes her flaxen hair out of my eyes, adding a cool breath to my otherwise warm balaclava. I wonder to myself what the right words are. Sometimes no words are right, so I speak only the truth. “I saw you dressed in white. My heart raced. I don’t care that you leave. I always know where to find you.”
Now it’s her turn to play the game. “You could have found me,” she says. “I moved south.”
“You always do,” I answer.
“Then why don’t you follow me?” She asks.
“Because you like the thrill of playing hard to get,” I say.
With an icy gaze, she pauses for a breath. “But you found me before. Do you remember?” She says, “I was in the Andes. With your friends. You came to find me, and I was there. I smiled at you.”
“I know you did. I did. We did,” I admit.
Her grip tightens. The recollection of our years spent tangled in one another’s passionate webs causes each of us to shift, not uneasily, but like two dogs nuzzling into a common pillow—deeper, closer together.
“Well, I’m back,” she whispers.
“Thank you,” I say. And I mean it. It is good to see her. Like hearing a favorite song. Or smelling the first woodsmoke on a cool autumn night.
“I’ll be here for a while. I don’t ask for much. Please make sure that we have fun together,” she says.
“We always do,” I respond. A coolness fills the room and with it a sense of familiar zen. Outside it’s starting to snow. The warmth of the hearth is matched only by the longing I feel when reunited with this perennial love. Soon we will be entangled in a downhill dance dictated by the frozen creation that first brought us together. The temporal nature of a seasonal love affair.
Every fall, my pulse quickens in anticipation of her return. Through the change of colors and season, we relearn our conversation. As the years pass, it becomes easier. The mechanics of the relationship are well established. Winter brings me happiness, and I show my appreciation and love. We are an old couple now, and this dance is a consistent part of life, even if the songs are slower than they used to be.
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SLOPE OPERA
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