Anybody who has seen me do simple gross motor activites, like attempting a somersault or walking down the street, knows I don't have the best coordination. So strapping me to a board and throwing me down a hill has always seemed like a horrifying idea, and usually turns out that way. Still, living at the base of Mt.Hood, I felt like it would be a waste of my life here not to spend time in it. So every week I drive up Highway 35 and watch the world grow increasingly white until it ends at the top of a mountain with a soberingly sharp peak. There are advertisements for pricey lessons, and so I instead hop onto a lift that goes far too high, and there there, up and away. It turns out that the only way to learn how to really get down a mountain is to get stuck at the top, and so that is where you'll find me. The good thing about being bad is that I sit on my arse more than most, and get to breathe the gorgeous stillness. It's a peaceful, beautiful thing and I'm always very happy to be there.
As if the cares of human life were few,
We seek out new:
And follow fate, which would too fast pursue.
See how on every bough the birds express
In their sweet notes their happiness.
They all enjoy and nothing spare;
But on their mother nature lay their care.
Why then should man, the lord of all below,
Such troubles choose to know
As none of all his subjects undergo?
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