The forecast brought tidings of powder,
And the weatherman’s warnings grew louder.
“On ice cars will skate,
The storm skiers will sate,”
Instead Friday served soupy warm chowder.
Now we’ve all got that best friend we hate,
“At the trailhead, I’ll meet you at eight!”
The alarm time they dread,
Eight still finds them in bed,
On Saturday both Bens ran late.
One Ben won’t leave town unfed,
The other (for one night) was wed,
‘Spite an evening of ale,
That Ben broke all the trail,
And should really have left me for dead.
Daybreak that morning was pale,
Soft light bathed the peaks to be scaled,
The party was spritely,
I walked in back rightly,
My legs had the heft of a whale.
Short days and my fitness pair nicely,
Fall training I have taken lightly,
But days now get longer,
In March I’ll be stronger,
So long as I hike the Bowl nightly.
In rev’rence we reached the top somber,
Until Matt regaled us like songbirds,
“Here’s to good friends!
The means earn the ends!”
We dropped in to find snow, deep and bomber.
