The red metal blades of the sled

Cut through the snow like knives

As I glide at a furious pace down the slope.

I struggle with the primitive steering mechanism

Hoping to avoid the various rocks, trees,

And other sledders decorating the hill.

The snow and ice fly down my jacket

And into my gloves and hat

Until I am soaking wet and half frozen.

I climb the hill and slide effortlessly back

Many times, and after each run,

I tell my fellow sledders of my downhill adventures.

Then after we have had our fun,

Or if someone has been seriously injured

We walk home, cold and hungry

Hoping there is hot chocolate waiting.