by Anthony Rowe
We were skiing at Winter Park, Colorado. It was late afternoon, and I had called it a day. I was sitting at a table on the sun deck. The sun was shining, and the sky was a rich blue. I looked out and noticed something at the top of the mountain – two tiny figures were moving in unison, bounding from side to side, heading down the mountain as if they were synchronized parts of the same machine.
Once the two figures got about one-third of the way down the mountain, I recognized them. I pointed up at the mountain and turned to my dad, “Hey Dad, look, it’s Rob and T.” At our table, we stopped what we were doing to watch my brother and his friend attack the moguls with both abandon and precision. Slowly, people around us started noticing, too.
Rob and T moved down the mountain, their silhouettes becoming larger, while more and more people on the deck stopped what they were doing to watch. Rob and T never lost their perfect rhythm, and the crowd on the deck was excitedly buzzing in response to what they were witnessing.
As Rob and T came to a sliding stop in front of the deck, spraying wide arcs of snow to announce their arrival, people smiled, shook their heads, and went back to what they were doing.
“Beautiful,” I said to myself.
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