We broke through the cloud line, the ground suddenly beneath us again. The shapes of the city and landscape, the green and brown and blue, the rust and steel, were familiar. I traced lines in the window.
I hobbled off the plane, having destroyed my ankle hiking only a few days before. Out of security, waiting for me, was D. He’d acquired a beard and a hat. I touched the hair on his face. He picked up my bag and we walked to the car.
It was one of the coldet days of the year. My feet caught the roots and I kicked up snow that fell under the tongue of my sneakers. The trees were black, the sky was grey, and the creek bed frozen. I couldn’t hear the cars, but I could hear the wind and the branches and the last of the dead leaves clinging to the trees.
I looked up at the darkening sky and we began to climb out of the deep “v” of the creek bed, feet slipping on snow slipping on rotting leaves. I watched G, in his dark green coat, scampering up the side.
Life On M 