CRISP

“CRISP”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Crisp and dry, my breath drifts gently frozen, but carries no words. The snow upon the lake shines like diamonds as it filters the moonlight, it has no value, but yet priceless in the eyes of the beholder. Clouds, broken and passing by and grouping at the south end of the valley; a storm is surely on its way. The barometer is dropping and the air temperature tries my joints and dates their age. My smile drifts in and out like a clear windscreen gathering pressing snow as the wiper clears the glass. My heartbeat can be heard beneath my eardrums and begins to lull me into a hypnotic trance. The barbwire of my mind loosens and my thoughts run free searching in every direction for a god that will listen. A pack of silhouetted coyotes cross the north end of the lake, I am then brought back to real time; they halt and pause for a moment. I can see their breath as well, they sniff the air and then bolt for the tree line. I have done nothing to them, but yet they fear me and that’s not the way I want to be remembered. The flag on my tip-up triggers, I raise a healthy sized walleye from beneath the ice and remove the hook from it‘s mouth. I twist the fish back and forth letting the light of the moon dance upon it bringing out it’s magnificent colors which resemble mother of pearl. I am not hungry tonight and to sleepy to take time to gut the walleye; so I name it Pearl and return it back beneath the ice and give thanks to the gods, to whichever one is listening. I stand and stretch my back, collect my gear and sled and walk back into the woods guided only by love and moonlight, this is my night, this is my peace, this is my reward.