Crisp

[Cross-posted from Vox.]

Sweet, clean ice.

First night out.

Crisp.

Blades.

Hollow blades … round blades

I-hear-you-coming blades.

Crisp.

First intake of breath

Tasty wood smoke and the full moon.

Second breath … someone wearing musk.

Served on plates of air, purging the mind.

Crisp.

Grins behind grills.

Winks under woolly hats.

Sweat soaking socks, chilling

Smiles, warming.

Crisp.

(These images brought to you by The Women of Winter.)