Page 81 - Dark Matter Issue5 Part II

We pour soup into stainless steel cups and drink. Salty, thick and warm, it relaxes my stiff limbs and I

lose the slight chill I had. I cut cheddar into wide slices with the Swiss army knife Gregg gave me and

place them onto wedges of bread. A whirl of wind sprays snow onto the table. Thin shafts of sunlight

appear. We walk to the door and watch the clouds lift a little, not enough to open the view of the

Champlain Valley spreading below the rock face in front of the lodge.

Now, three decades later, each passing winter tells me that the winters I knew as a youth are

becoming extinct. I feel this loss as grief, as for someone I love, with whom I feel intimate. Skiing in

deep snow below Mount Mansfield in winter is part of my story, my geographical autobiography. On a

sub-zero day or in the midst of a white out, the warmth of a sturdy shelter, a cup of hot soup, a cozy

place at the wooden table engenders an intimacy with others and ourselves that may be more difficult

to access when the weather is warm and the energy is high, as in the height of summer. Experiences