The thunder of the hooves upon the packed snow echoing off the walls of buildings,
steeped in the past, memories of days long past resounding to the hoofbeats.
Ski’s being pushed to their limits as horse and rider tug them down the street
connecting old and new with a simple lariat.
The crowd roars with each new arrival and their heads turn and watch
each disappear down the old streets in a rush of hoof thrown snow.
Winners soon announced, congratulations said and cheers toasted round,
people go home to the warm fires left burning so many hours ago.
The sun slowly settles behind the mountains,
golden hues cascading upon the old town like gentle petals of new fallen leaves.
Ever slowly, sounds of commerce fade away and silverton once again is wrapped in quiet bliss,
voices of the ages wooing us come, come and rest your souls.