The point from which, my dear, we can see the Mummy Range. My connect. Our lips on hoarfrost pine. A tangle of chickadees but there's something in the woods, something quiet and loud. We listen to an unknown bird sound alarm. I say, "Someone else on the mountain." You say, "It's quiet." I push my hiking stick into the duff and hear a deep barrel grunt from above in the boulders. "We should go down."
on top the old snow
our reptilian brains