Above Zermatt

I went snowboarding in Zermatt, Switzerland. The town had a certain peaceful air to it—no gas cars, just small electric ones moving slowly through the streets. No engine noise, just a soft hum here and there. It made everything feel calmer, like nothing needed to be rushed.

It felt… clean and crisp.

I remember the first lift up the mountain, seeing the mighty Matterhorn piercing through the deep blue sky. My eyes were taking everything in, but my brain couldn’t decide if it was real or not.

The snow was soft powder.

I wasn’t out there doing anything crazy. No tricks, no big airs, nothing like that. You don’t have to be a professional to appreciate it. Just being out there is enough, the snow, the mountains, the quiet, taking it in as you move.

Midway down, I remember this little igloo village. You almost don’t expect it to be there, just sitting in the middle of everything. They had cheese fondue—warm and delicate. It tasted so good. It was heaven, sitting there with bread dipped in warm cheese in the middle of the Swiss Alps.

Right before that spot, there’s a slope. I remember stopping at the top of it, sitting for a second, taking it all in. Watching the other skiers. The blue sky against the white snow. It felt a little surreal, like if my feet weren’t strapped into the board, I might just drift off. The postcard was obtainable after all.

The snow under the board felt soft, easy. I pushed off and went down. Nothing fancy. Just smooth turns, gliding through butter. Or maybe melted cheese.