![]() ![]() In contrast to her fashionable ski suit of lilac and white he wore black, and the morning sun burst on his bulbous black sunglasses in an iridescent flare. He cruised to an elegant stop beside her. It was the effortless track of Jake’s skis as he came over the ridge and caught up with her. But right now they had the powder and the morning entirely to themselves. The sun was up now in a few minutes there would be more skiers to break the eerie morning spell. Nearly two miles below lay the dark outline of Saint-Bernard-en-Haut, their Pyrenean resort village across to the west, the irregular humps and horns of the mountain range. The tips of her skis looked like weird talons of brilliant red and gold in the powder snow as she waited, ready to swoop. Snow and silence the complete arrest of life a rehearsal for and a pre-echo of death.īut her breath was warm and it said no to any premature thought of death. ![]() ![]() If there are few moments in life that come as clear and as pure as ice, when the mountain breathed back at her, Zoe knew she had trapped one such moment and it could never be taken away. And when the mountain peak seemed to nod and sigh back at her, she almost thought she could die in that place, and happily. Zoe pulled the air into her lungs, feeling the cracking cold of it before letting go. The mountain air prickled with ice and the savor of pine resin. Gentle six-pointed flakes from a picture book, settling on her jacket sleeve. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |