Zero Point

The day my hands touched snow for the first time,
I stood still at Zero Point, my heart in quiet rhyme.

The road climbed upward, winding and slow,
Each turn revealing beauty the mountains chose to show.

The air grew sharp, the cold brushed my skin,
A feeling so strange, yet warm deep within.

I never liked the chill or winter’s tone,
But this cold felt gentle, like joy I had known.

Snow melted softly against my hand,
A childhood dream finally where I stand.

And there, without reason or plan,
The inner child in me laughed like a carefree man.

For one small moment, pure and true,
I played in the snow, the dream came through.