The cold in these mountains is ferocious, has been every year since the beginning. Crowded peaks locked in perennial snows, recluse-dark forests breathing out mists, grasses never sprout before the solstice and leaves start falling in early August. This confusion includes a lost guest now, searching, searching—no sky to be seen.
Copyright © 2005 by David Hinton. From Mountain Home. Reprinted with permission of New Directions Press.