SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Wednesday, Dec. 09, 2009 @ 10:54 pm
Night Skiing



I went out night skiing tonight. Alone.

There were three cars in the parking lot, and probably one of those was the caretaker.

The trees were coated in rime and glistened opaque white under the flood lights. The snow was fast.

I climbed the only lit hill and stopped at the top to tighten my boots. The light flickered out. Dead silence. Light snowflakes falling.

I retrieved my headlamp from my pocket. I turned it on with my teeth and pulled it over my two toques. I pushed off and the sound of the snow under my skis filled my ears. My eyelashes freezing together.

Later, warming up the truck, I glanced in the mirror and see that the stray hairs that were loosened from my toques were covered in my frozen breath, delicate white hairs, my cheeks pink, and my eyes bright and alive.

This is night skiing.


Roots | Shoots