It was a Friday night, clear and cold when my sister and I jumped upon the lift. The original double chair caught us mid shin, cutting us down and sitting us in the chair. Years ago this used to be the only chair my sister would go on. She refused to go off anything different, and would not even think about going off the top. My how things have changed. My sister now a veteran ski instructor would still ski faster than me if she had an anchor tied to her.
Its a cold night on the hill, and Sarah and I dropped our heads trying to keep warm. The low temperatures did not keep us inside. We made our turns down the mountain before catching the lift to once again bring us to the summit. We murmured to each other excitedly, only as sisters can. Yet we kept our faces hidden, trying to ward of frostbite.
It was a harsh cold night, but so beautiful. I have always loved the mountain at night, It always seems quieter and more intimate. It was clear enough so you could see for miles. The lights from small towns and villages faraway twinkled in the darkness. The Monadnock Region laid out like a blanket below us. As we took the lifts up, the mountain twinkled, the trail lights hung like strings of pearls upon the slopes. It always makes me smile, and be thankful to be here in this place. A place where we step into our skis and take turns into the twilight.