We had left the trail to hit the virgin, champagne powder. Apparently, it was fenced off for a reason. No sooner had we ducked under the sign when the snow broke free beneath us. We took off on a magic carpet of snow. 50 feet or so in, we tumbled under an ice sheet tsunami. That was the last I saw of him. He was plowed over by the rushing snow; his legs appeared twice during two somersaults, but then vanished. Somehow, I managed to stay atop the wave. Shoved downhill. Forcefully. Twisting this way and that, I could see the blue sky, the white snow, uphill and downstream. Over and over and over. Everything seems to have stopped: the sliding; the sounds; the stopwatch. Looking around, it seems I'm in a shallow valley. Behind me, a steep slope. Loose chunks of snow still tinkle down, mocking the slide we just had. I know I'm not terribly far from help, but I wonder if they can reach me. Us, I mean. Shit - he's got to be around here somewhere. Hopefully not buried under, not dead. Ambulances and heated lodges are just on the other side of the mountain. Did they hear the slide? Did they know what happened? My cell phone doesn't have reception here. I'm clearly not prepared for this predicament. I just need to sit for a minute, clear my head. I wake up and it's dark. How'd I fall asleep? Great time to pull a Rip Van Winkle. How long have I been out? I just notice that I'm shaking. Probably more adrenalin than cold. I should get moving. Which way? How do I try to find my friend? How do I find myself? Maybe I should wait for the rescue team, wait for the dogs. Surely there'll be helicopters and news crews and volunteers. Surely. Just like on TV. Maybe this isn't real. Instead of a dream, it's just a TV show and any minute someone will mosey in and tell me this whole thing was a gag, an elaborate hoax. Maybe I should wait for the TV team. I should've watched that show about how to survive in the outdoors instead of playing that video game. If I make it out of here, I promise I'll TiVo every show about how to survive, how to camp, how to escape, how to whatever. If I make it out of here, I wonder who will play me in the Lifetime special. But that's for later. Now, I have to get to safety. But all I hear is silence. An enveloping quiet. You’ve never experienced a silence like this. Out, away from the ski lifts’ motors; away from the music near the lodge; away from the cell phones; away from the people chattering. Quiet. It’s achingly peaceful and probably close to nirvana. Except for the fear in my stomach. Come the daylight, I'll start walking. I’m not sure how I’ve gotten so far off track, so alone. But here I am: no trail before me and only my ambling footsteps behind me. I didn’t know where I was going so it should be no surprise that I don’t know where I am. All I see over this ridge is valley leading to a distance peak. Hopeless. It seems I've been gone epochs. My roots are withered and aren't taking to the new soil. I don't belong here. Yet, the quiet, the peace cradles me, warms me, mollifies me. How long have I been gone? How far away have I been? From friends? From relationships? From touch? I’m like a hibernating bear: looking to be left alone, but will wake and eventually have to emerge from my cave. Maybe I won’t make it out of here. Maybe this is my last winter. I’m not suicidal, but, should Death come, I won’t struggle.