Conquer Kozzie

We came, we saw,
We conquered Kozzie.
No mean feat if you are three years old,
Or if you are scared out of your wits by the heights,
Encountered on the chairlift.
Funny going up was much easier,
The down will be described in all its,
White-knuckled majesty,
Later in these prose.
But for those,
I will not say of us,
Because the chairlift puts me in the same category,
As the three year old,
But for those of able limb,
The thirteen kilometre return trip is...
A 'doddle.'
Seven made the pilgrimage,
Ranging in age from six to forty eight.
The nine year old Aspergian required constant 'chivvying.'
And only completely lost it,
Near the summit.
"Too windy,
Too high up."
After all this was the highest point in 'Ostraya',
And way way too scary.
Nine year old Aspergian geniuses can count.
Four hours to dawdle and whinge six and a half kilometres.
Well that adds up to,
Too far.
"Can't we go back now?"
Luckily for us the way back is blissfully,
Downhill.
The scenery was superb,
But greatly marred by gale force winds,
That buffeted the petite six year old against the summit cairn.
Perhaps the junior Aspie had a point,
But he was hunkered in amongst the boulders.
So at pace we returned.
Only one spill on the steel boardwalk.
And at last sun and wind burned,
The time had come for the chairlift descent.
The blind led the blind.
And blind we were with our eyes tightly closed.
The three most terrified on the same chair.
At the base, walking jelly-legged,
It was then I noticed the imprints of my fingers,
Indenting the soft flesh of my children's,
Small hands.