Edge of darkness

At the edge of light

I think it was probably as I was looking towards the midnight sun from the skihill that I was for certain noticing it - how it really wasn't light, at all. The wind was driving tru the skilift behind me, the cable whipping it's bearings like an ancient bell in Tibet or something and all around me people were talking, some youngsters driving their stripped volvos up and down the face of the hill, almost but not quite overturning, churning up the sad turf in wide bands, spraying us with dried dirt and the wind catching short phrases scentences fragmented into utter chaos. It wasn't really light at all, the little sun all the way over to one side, the landscape bathed in different shades of blue and the mountainrange and nearby lakes still shrouded in ice and snow. I could literally feel the coldness in the landscape, see packs of wolves driving tru the windblown snow in the intense dark blue winternight, the reindeer standing nervously to the side, the dogs anxious, airing their close relatives. And I was wondering about these newcomers, standing there with me, people not living outside, whose idea of an outdoor meal would be a nicely decked table in a quiet garden, not dried meat and seething hot tea while laying on my back in a snowdrift to get out of the wind. These thoughts struck me and suddenly set me apart, my eyes narrowing. They were tourists from easier parts of the world, and although I pretended to be like them, my zipped anorak told a different story, my genes were hard at work, keeping me out of the wind.

posted by Fawn @ 7:17 AM