They look like glow worms up there, those snow cats.
Moving slowly around the mountainside, which has long since disappeared into the blackness of night, the singular headlights on the fuel-guzzling beasts shine brightly.They look suspended, as the night sky has no pricks of light itself; it’s cloud-covered, with none but one bright star peeking through a break in the whispy blanket covering earth.
They say they’re not good for the air we breathe, making ski resorts dirty in a hidden way. Like a prostitute that ambles about in the dark but tosses on a white dress to greet the day.
Yet there’s something intriguing about the beasts; some might call them monsters. Mostly nocturnal, their powerful engines don’t rev until skiers clamber off the hill, headed this way and that for happy hour, a hot tub soak or to relax before cooking up a family feast. They mysteriously groom the slopes, creating a carpet of fresh corduroy for bright-eyed skiers the following day. Perhaps the drivers sleep all day and get up to greet the night, clocking in a 4 p.m. and out at 2 a.m., only to gather at each others’ homes to catch a reprieve before doing it all over again.
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