Crystalline

Winter comes in the night, reticent and tender, through the tall pines that sway their greeting.

We lay on our backs listening to the delicate rhythm of ice crystals falling on the tent, following the notes as they appear on the canvas over our heads. Our sleeping bags are zipped together, so we can warm each other, outfitted in thick toques and long-johns and woolen socks. The earthy musk scent of pine wood campfire and sweat from today’s hike clings to us, for when we saw the grey and pink sky just behind the mountain peaks at sunset, we knew that an evening sponge bath in the glacier creek was not meant to be.

Instead, we packed and prepared. Drank scotch from the flask as we bundled our belongings to leave the next morning. Threw the last of the wood on the fire, creating a dazzling blue-orange pyre to the end of the season. Stood in the darkness before bed, feeling the kiss of the first pliant flakes on our cheeks.

In Spring, we’ll return. But for now, we are content to lay here in the silence of the morning forest, sheathed in snow.

(c) Elvira Berezowsky