It’s a matter of knowing winter

In the dream that was not a dream the day appeared white and blanketed. We sunk our feet in, hers bare, mine clothed. She danced dangerously across the horizon, a practiced sleepwalker of exterior realms, while I, a caped neophyte in this act of incremental flight caught the edge of the air.



[With thanks to Natasha Maidoff for the pleasures of a sudden friendship and snow-scape image making, and the late Robert Kroetsch for the title of this post]


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