IN SPRUCE FOREST

IN SPRUCE FOREST

We are sliding over, trembling, swaying and creaking. I am freezing. Her fingers have gotten completely white, the eyebrows too. Wings folded together, shivering with cold. He is standing like a statue, the dark feather completely covered in hoarfrost, yet the eyes are wide and watchful. It’s because they appear only for a second, we should not even blink. An endless carpet in dark green and white.