A Poem About Skiing

I don't know who to credit with this, so I'll just say it's "author unknown":

Whiteout
The corridors of our labyrinth are all
downward spirals, white on white.
We inscribe the same patterns in light
powder or hard blue ice. Under tall
pines we glide, weightless & dumb, small
almost imaginary beings. No rest at night,
we dream this same white dream. Who can fight
the snow? who choses where to fall?
To repeat oneself forever, up & down,
is purgatory, but to love it, to accept
this white puzzle of snow & tilted space...
In such a maze who can accept or reject?
It’s all the same: mountain, plain, country, town.
We would be no freer in any other place.