More snow, more trees, more sky
Here are a couple of poems from Kim Stanley Robinson's Antarctica:
And it's surprising, with so few words, how much of Whistler that *doesn't* capture (I thought the poems would come much closer). There are the mountains, of course, and the human runs through the place too: it's manicured; there's gravity; it's experiential. It's the last that matters, I think: the movement through it, the other people vs the individual focus. These are unlike Antarctica.
I'm trying to think what I would write, if I was writing like KSR. Maybe:
white white blue
i am here. gravity is here