The Third Twin
And I’d no doubt know the name of that place.
As I returned to my sleeping bag, burrowing deep inside, the opposite of oblivion was served. A dream that was and was not my own played tantalizingly, coldly across my receptors.
***
We woke to three inches on the ground, and more falling. It was a lazy shower, the flakes large and cottony on the windless air. Though we knew conditions could easily deteriorate, that footing was going to be a bitch as it was, we found ourselves admiring the scene. The firs and spruces of the opposite slope, among the last of the sub-alpine ranks, were capped in white, bringing a Christmasy feel to an otherwise raw and un-festive realm. That wonderful hush that ac
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