"Heat pearled our skin as we followed up the mountain's face. His idea, to tie our coats to the trunks of trees. The clumsy knots of their arms a gift, an embrace. Sophie so small that only a sapling would do. We moved on, lightened, cooled. The air thinned and the land went blue. How good it felt, to toil awhile in sun for the sight of a rippling valley. It was Christmas. Earth was new."
"Then dusk. Then darkness like a minnow net. Then us, its catch. Then the path swallowed by brush. Then, again, the needling cold. Our arms were bare. We did not know he was afraid. Even as he climbed the white pine to search for some sign of home. Even as we shivered on the earth below. Look how he sways in the treetop, we thought. See how his head brushes the sky."
Heat beads on skin as companions climb a mountain, tying coats to tree trunks to cool and lighten themselves. Sophie is so small that only a sapling will hold her coat. The air thins, the land turns blue, and the group enjoys the sunlit toil for the sight of a rippling valley. Christmas arrives and the earth seems new, then dusk falls, followed by darkness and cold. The path becomes overgrown, arms become bare, and the companions shiver unaware that one of them is afraid while he climbs a white pine searching for a sign of home.
Read at The Atlantic
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