I’ve guided her down mountains she thought were too steep to face on her own. I’ve been beat up by a rock or two when she just couldn’t resist going out of bounds, both of us, an absolute sucker for adventure. I am always trying to keep up with boys. I’ve side stepped up traitorous terrain all for only a few more turns in deep powder. I’ve been with her as lasting friendships were created. I am her favorite accessory. I have served as a reliable vehicle to deepen her relationship with her husband. Needless to say, we’ve had a lot of really memorable days together. I can say with confidence I know her, better than she knows herself. I know she hates the easy stuff; she wants it fluffy and just cold enough to keep it that way. She loves the way I glide just right on top of the powder. We have worn the title, “Powder Hound” a time or two.
I am the one who gently nudges her to make one more turn, push out of the traverse one more time; because I know she’ll thank me in the end. She doubts herself; I wish she wouldn’t. She’s so much more than she gives herself credit for. In many ways I am her compass pointing her down the hill that will lead to the happiness she deserves.By the end of each winter she puts me up, I rest in her garage like a trophy, reigning over the other toys with a slight boast in my posture because… I know her.
This post was prompted by Write on Edge. We were challenged to tell our story from the point of view of an object who bore witness in 400 words or less.