by Lucy M. Young

Up in the Northland far away
There's a long smooth hill at the foot of a mountain
Broad and steep, free of bushes and trees,
A perfect place to ski
The mountain above it is beautifully clad
In fragrant balsam, fir, and pine,
Rough logging roads winding throughout
I skied for hours along those roads
Then at sunset, like a low-flying bird
I swooped down the hill toward home nestled snugly below
Aglow with lamplight welcoming me
To the love and security waiting therein.
The warmth of that memory stays with me
Brightening many a weary day
I pray that someone is skiing those trails
Feeling the joy and peace that I knew
In those long ago days of my youth.
