Memory of Her Smile

I follow a steep track up between two high cliffs. The ground is blue with the anticipation of cold. Patches of snow in the gneiss scree. To stop here even for a moment. To imagine this possible. To remember now that I passed this way. The turmoil of two bags fractured upwards, nothing like clouds. They thrust above the layer of paper and books beneath, which itself lies above the flat, brown tabletop. I must somehow continue. Endless series of switchbacks leading up to the pass. The mountains resemble the diminishing day. Buckles attached to the grim rock. Zippers running along their soaring aretes. I must pick my way between them. I must find my way to the place where the difference between one place and another disappears. I must keep walking – the weight of countless homes on my back, but with their contents constantly spilling out behind me. She smiled at me for several weeks. That’s enough.