The sky comes down in pieces, hard enough to ring against the stone. Ice skips wild across the ridge and finds the gaps beneath our clothes. Keep your chin low. Don’t watch the valley. There’s nothing down there that helps us now. The path is half a guess, half frozen gravel underfoot. Your sleeve is torn, my hands are numb, and the ridge keeps fading into white. Stay close enough to hear me. If the wind steals every other word, follow the shape of my shoulders through the white. Count the strikes across your shoulders, hear them scatter off the stone. Let the whole sky spend itself there is nowhere here to hide. Keep my outline in your vision, I’ll keep yours inside of mine. If one of us disappears, the other keeps calling through the white. Hail gathers in the hollows, fills the cracks between the rocks. The wind drives it sideways until distance closes. Let it strike. Let it split against the cliffs. Save your breath for when the path drops out beneath the snow. One hand against the stone, eyes fixed just beyond your reach. Anything farther belongs to the white. Count the strikes across your shoulders, hear them scatter off the stone. Let the whole sky spend itself there is nowhere here to hide. Keep my outline in your vision, I’ll keep yours inside of mine. If one of us disappears, the other keeps calling through the white. If you lose sight of me, shout. If I stop answering, come closer. Point where you think the path continues. I’ll tell you if I see the same. There may be nothing past the ridge. There may be another ridge. For now, keep your hand against the stone. Count the strikes across your shoulders, hear them vanish into snow. The ridge has lost its edges and the trail is almost gone. Keep my outline in your vision, while there’s still a shape to find. If one of us disappears keep calling through the white.
