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I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day, arriving at the summit of Bosquets Mountain, nestled in the heart of the Berkshires. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the damp, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I readied myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It's strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really didn't appear that high anymore. If I had a tall enough ladder, I mig ht be able to touch them.
Approximate Word count = 704
Approximate Pages = 2.8
(250 words per page double spaced)
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