Avalanche

No one knows when it began.  But a snowflake on the mountaintop shook loose and tumbled down head over heels, meter after meter, forming the epicenter of an avalanche, a devastating force of nature that once set in motion, could not be curtailed.

Although he tried.  He constructed a windbreak, wide and strong, and tended it carefully. Yet an avalanche is too potent to be prevented.

When you came to town, we gathered at the table at dusk.  We shared a supper of hot soup, a basket of warm bread, and plates of butter and cheese.  Cold beer in bottles from the refrigerator.  Votive candles in old glass jars.  We traded stories of children and work and travel.

The room was filled with laughter.

It began to snow, quietly at first, then heavily.

You stepped softly to the door and unlatched the hasp, taking a tentative step through the portal into the deep white world.  The door closed behind you and you were gone.

Even your footsteps disappeared without a trace, covered by falling snow.

 

 

The table is empty now.  It is still winter, although spring should have come by now.  We watch for you in the morning fog, through the tall gray shadows in the woodlot.

We listen for your voice in the wind through the pines.

We are waiting for you in the song of the robin, who returns every spring.