Never Mind Smilla’s Feelings

Everyday the snow looked different. First, the sugary glitter of crushed diamonds, then shards of glass. Lastly, the papery surface of flakey skin.

Like a film exposed for hours, it’s ribboned lines revealed what happened in my absence. Lone walkers and dog walkers. The crazy quilting of little birds, a double machine stitch in the white wadding. A tractor taking hay to three white horses, it’s tires leaving a liquorice all sort track of snow and mud.

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