So far, after ten days of the Olympics, my commute has suffered the following: one missed Skytrain. That's it. Equals about two minutes of my life. I suppose it helps that I've avoided downtown like the plague, but I normally go there about once every two months anyway, so no big sacrifice.
I mention the above because today's exercise is to pick a Winter Olympic sport and write a poem or short story about it. Or involving it, or however you want to include it.
Gliding through the wintry woods,
A rifle strapped to your back;
It’s easy to get lost in time,
Though it’s hard to get off track.
Do your eyes see hungry wolves
When you look at your rivals?
Do you wonder if this is sport
Or more about survival?
Pause to take aim at targets
That are stationary prey;
Now back to your skis to complete
The hunt in your ancestor's way.