Incredible Feats upon 500 Flakes of Snow, or, Where not to go

Upon 500 flakes or so
the Widow Wyile set out
to ski upon trails
she had long not
frequented

There was
**just**
*enough*
snow coverage
on the trail below the trees

The tunnels of ice bent trunks
snow meringue topped branches
and marshmallow dotted twiglets
created a wondrous
enchanted landscape
filled with physical challenges

trunks
to step over
arches
to    stoop-scoot
            under
turnstiles to push through
and
       descents
                      to test
          for surprise
in which department
upon that day at least
she and her ski companion
were bestowed with Fortune’s favour

Such a thoroughly delightful outing
          until
a faulty surmise
with the allure of red
yes red
flagging tape
tempted the Widow Wyile
to finish the day going
down a dreadfully narrow
hobbit snowshoe path
entirely unfit for skis
making their earlier
gymnastic feats
elementary in the utmost

Oh!
how the tables had turned
all of a sudden
how utterly preposterous
to think the trail could improve
would improve
after the first few obstacles
and all of this
in the late getting
afternoon

Usually the Widow Wyile would be
muttering further back
wondering at the veracity
of the supposition
that the twig face-slapping
the squ
       ee
      zing
the negotiation
   of looooooooooooooong skis
   on a trail twi
                   sting
around tree trunks or limbs
unrealistic angles
up
    down
or sideways
was actually leading to the promised
destination
as her friend said
oh yes
I really do think
it’s this way
any minute now
we’ll connect

     Well.
This trail was clearly marked
but just as clearly
its very looks said
no skier should follow it
and here she was
leading the way

Could one call it bushwhacking
in spite of the red tape
in spite of the evident
yet remarkably narrow
path?

     Yet
by this point
they were too    far   in
following some slim hobbit
going where   oh    where?

The only way to go on
was laughing all the way
in head shaking amazement
that two wrong notions
are no better than one
and most certainly
do not get one
to an imagined
place

Whenever they thought they were
nearly somewhere
they might recognize
the terrain or next trial
simply got worse
and the day waned
a little bit more
until finally
can you guess?
finally
they came
to the bank
of a lake
one they knew about
though said bank was not
immediately recognizable
the body of water
not fully frozen
and without an appreciable
shore
and so
off came the skis

The tale ends well
as good jokes should
as when they knew
where they were
soon came a wider trail
that brought them chuckling home
imagining all manner of wild elaborations
this wan
       dering adventure
would be subject to
over time
and vowing
of course
not to “ski”
that part
ever
again