SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Jet Lag - Saturday, Feb. 22, 2020
The Day Before Japan - Monday, Feb. 17, 2020
In the Alpine - Wednesday, Feb. 12, 2020
Zoa - Monday, Feb. 10, 2020
Nine Months - Monday, Feb. 03, 2020


Monday, Feb. 10, 2020 @ 12:16 pm
Zoa



We rise early and drive out into the valley and up into the snowy mountain pass. Slush slops against the windshield. We listen to a podcast to learn Japanese, and I rest my hand on his thigh when it’s his turn to drive.

We skin up through the forest, and the sun appears through the clouds. We ascend a soft snowy ridge and transition our gear from climbing to descending. I push off of the ridge and float down on knee-deep powder, my skis riding on top. There is so much silence that all I hear is my own breath and the squeaking of my boots through each turn.

After skiing, we drive south and cross the border into the states. We go to his friends’ cabin, and we soak with them in the hot tub and drink hoppy ale. The forest is quiet and dark.

Up in the guest bedroom at night, tucked in the small and cozy bed. He spoons me from behind, and I hold his hand that lays in front of my chest.

He kisses my neck.

“This is all I need,” he says to me.

And we fall asleep.


Roots | Shoots