My far north landscape has gone quiet beneath a fresh mantle of snow. The pine trees hold forth white tufts of snow in delicate balance. The air is sharp tonight, only a few degrees south of what I consider frigid. Above, the moon roves through tattered clouds. It peeks out at every opportunity, deliberate and unrelenting. Between the drifting veils, stars sparkle and flex.
The chill air stings my face as I
make my way to the hot tub and whisk away the powder snow before tilting open
the cover and allowing wisps of steam to thread together and envelop me. After
slipping into the perfectly warm water, I sit back and allow every muscle to
relax.
I can literally feel the silence
around me. Not an empty silence, this. Here, beneath the wandering moon and the
watchful stars, time relaxes its edges. The heat holds me steady, thawing the
day’s small grievances, while the sky above slowly revolves around me.
Even deep in the winter, the sky is
my garden. I am, at once, a part of the great motions there and apart from
them. Tonight, the snow has softened the world, and the moon has perfectly
choreographed its movements. I am the warmth at the edge of eternity.
—Mitchell Hegman
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