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Stinging Wind

In by Chris on December 16, 2010 at 4:15 pm

A blizzard scours you down to your bedrock. Up on the ridges, unrelenting streams of stinging snow whip around boulders, little of which clings into drifts. Trudging across the icy cap of a ridge, head turned down and away from the needle-like wind, your field of vision narrows to a white patch rhythmically entered by the corner of your boot. The white storm throws conversation off of cliffs. Hurtling ice turns to bone-seeping cold. There in the fulcrum of the storm you walk balanced between your battered body and empty mind, never slowing your steps or turning for your companions.


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