Holiday

A river of frozen snow stretches before us. We run. The glorious, satisfying crunch rings in our ears as we crush hundreds of tiny ice-cathedrals like heathen gods, delighting in our newfound power. The footprints of destruction glisten in the half-light and we feel both pride and shame. We have left our mark on this temporary landscape.

Beyond the snow we find sand burnt black in the belly of the Earth then spewed up onto the surface to remind us that the ground is alive beneath our feet. Here, by the grace of rock and fire, am I.

Gentle waves break from the dark stillness out to sea, whispering of bearded ghosts and plundered treasure. Seaweed blankets the beach, decorated with broken, empty shells. We search for signs of life in the wreckage but find only pretty fragments of some sea creature’s house that we shall take for souvenirs.

It would be easy to fall out of the world here, to lie down in the crisp Arctic air and never get up again. Maybe this is enlightenment, this feeling that life is no longer a necessary component of happiness. There is no need for questioning or doubt in this land where violence bubbles below a fragile, austere crust.

For now, we turn our backs on the edge of the world and trudge back to the softly glowing city. Tomorrow, we will return to chase the northern lights writhing purple and green across this land that someone once mistook for Hell.

Holiday

abletsandtoast

Boston, United States

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  • bellmusker
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