When it's cloudy and snowy and the sun is hiding there's this thing that happens called "flat light."

It's where the color of the sky and the color of the snow-covered ground is roughly similar. The sunlight is weak enough it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. The contours of the land in front of you are smoothed over. The natural dips and curves are invisible in the grey. It's bright but in the oddest way, you’re squinting behind sunglasses. Wishing for more light but only the yellow kind.

On days like this when you're doing something as insane as sliding downhill on waxed boards, you don't see the bumps coming. Up they come and either you see them when it’s too late or not at all. Then, you're taking an unintended jump. At first I handled this true to my nature by slowing way, way down. But my inexperience and less than stellar technique often meant that I ended up going faster than I wanted.

So it became an exercise in preparation. I might be leaving the earth for a second or two unexpectedly. Time to adopt an athletic stance, my dear. Be ready to jump when you don't want to.

The other thing that happens is that you have no idea how fast you're going. I've gotten used to being able to gauge speed based on a solid sense of the horizon. But when that doesn't exist I could be racing a turtle or a freight train. In looking at my watch afterwards, it turned out that I reached top speed on one of these days of suspension.

What a strange combination of caution and recklessness. Of preparation and being in the moment. I suppose they’re all shades of grey. Just like the sunlight. Stripping away the contours. Putting me in between the same sky and the same land where I've always existed. But not, all the sudden.

When depth becomes unidentifiable, when the horizon is fuzzy, you wonder where you are. You lose your sense of place. What state am I in again? Awake or not? West or East? Standing or sitting? Balanced or about to fall?

It's the kind of check-in that brings you back into your body. Anyone who has tried “tree” position knows how effective it is to let your mind wander and tense up while putting all your weight on a dozen tiny foot muscles.

I'm right here, she says back to me. This body that has carried me through so much. You know what to do. Exist in your middle. Be in your core. Be ready for flight.

She's right. As she always is. All it takes is a little change in the clouds to remember to listen.

Inspired by an experience in Canyons Village, Utah.