Sitting at the Prospector Theater in Park City at the moment, patiently awaiting for ski movie season to start. This is my favorite time of year. The stoke in the air, thick and electric, is wafting around and multiplying with each hug and fist bump made between locals who have been hibernating since the lifts stopped spinning months ago. Winter is coming, indeed.

Mountain biking, hiking, the wickedly addicting game of golf, the monthly trips to Vegas to fix my poker addiction…  all these things are space holders. Hobbies. Things I enjoy doing.

But when the temps start to dive into freezing, when frost takes over fields of fresh cut grass, and the faded Autumn leaves begin to decay, that’s when I start to feel alive again.

The tease of Winter: Images of  thick white blankets draped on Mother Nature’s bare curves take over my thoughts. Slash turns, face shots, the sound of wind whistling through chair lifts during days that scare the tourists away begin to trickle into each waking moment.

Skiing, the fabric that holds my life together. The reason I find myself worshiping the mountains we surround ourselves with. A pure passion.

And another season is upon us.