He takes off ahead of me. I have to pause a few times, my feet bothering me. Eventually I sit down on the side of the trail in the snow and take off my boots to fix my socks. Not too much below freezing, my feet bare and the snow glowing blue in the light of my headlamp. It's a thrill to expose my feet, to lay them gently and briefly the snow.

I ski alone through the forest. Tree trunks glittering with frost. Shimmering dew falling down and pelleting against my face.

A dog with a headlamped human come from the other direction. I am blinded by the light. The woman passes, but the dog pauses. I call out softly, Mica? The dog turns and waggles towards me. This dog has been in my office. She always shoves her face into my bag to investigate my lunch.

On the downhill towards the lodge, I turn out my light. I am flying through the dark, and in this moment I am infinite.

I recognize this feeling. It's similar to when I stand on a mountain beside Chris. It's the same as when I flow through asana in yoga classes. And also like the time I was sober yet felt high, up in the crush of bodies near the stage during Slowdive, in the hot dark night at Sasquatch. I'm not sure if I'm inside my body or out of my body, but in theses moments I am complete and full and want for nothing.

On the drive home, I realized that I don't like him. Love and like are different. He's become ugly in the last year. The stress of his work has turned him into a monster. Full of judgement, defense, hatred. I feel sad for him.