There is not a [word] for warmth in the bitter and biting subzero currents reddening lips and chafing skin to leather. The harsh intensity of sunlight and rapid motion across the uniformity of reflective dazzles of snow narrow the eyes. From dawn to dusk, the apocalyptic wind races to out run the arc of sun seeking toward shorelines of ice and questing beyond for the infinite line of the horizon where the water meets the sky.
©2019 by L.P. Van Ness. All rights reserved.
[genre: cosmic fiction]
