Winter.  An alpine meadow. 

To find a quiet so full one can breathe in the humming of the earth. 

She slips through the trees, trailing fingers over bark, a map of a life she’s learned to read.

Passing under the snow-burdened fir edging the sweep of meadow, cold stings her nose, lemon bright. 

The trees whisper their amusement, rustling in the sweep of breeze.

She stops, gazing at the sky-mirror snow.  What right has she to

enter the temple?   

Head bowed, she moves to stand beneath red-gold glory, holding, then

expelling a breath cloud.  

The cloud, too, pauses, before blending with the air.

She lifts her arms, palms skyward.

It’s a slow step, the first, the next a bit quicker, another, circling,

snow spray fanning golden in the light.

 The energy of mountain, sky, and tree sings in her bones. 

 She stills, breathing the sky in.

 Her hands drift earthward.  

***

A ringtone tinkles.   

“Honey, are you going to get that?’

Acknowledging, I whisper to that girl standing in the snow. 

“Soon.”

I exhale.

“Hi, Sweetie, what’s up?”