They carry their own gear now. Skis
finally longer than the length
of binding, bodies broader, taller
than the toddlers learning to waddle
across a shallow slope. They buckle
boots and push away, brushing
my worry from their shoulders
like snowflakes. I let them race
each other down the mountain,
choose my turns with care, knees
older than the legs they buttress.
They take me down expert paths,
certain I can navigate the bumps.