Pieces

Lyf's Parable

It was a morning heavy with mist where the dewdrops clung to whatever they could, freezing themselves like crystals upon the blades that rose from the ground and the foliage of leaves and pine. With each step, as though upon a thousand diamantes, some just able to sparkle in the muted light, Lyf could hear a soft crackle beneath her feet and with quickening steps it resounded like a hungry animal chewing on bamboo.

A small hut was ahead in her line of sight. She hurried toward it as the frost was beginning to bite. She had woken in the morning, her feet bare, with her only clothing being a long sleeved singlet and pants, tight like second skins. Her hair was damp and her face wet with the dew.

She pushed in the door of the hut. It wasn't exactly a reprieve from the cold once inside, but at least it was dry. She left a small crack in the door to let the light in, as there were no windows. There was a small raised platform in a corner, like a bench, presumably as a bed or a seat. A sheepskin rug was coiled up on its end. Lyf unraveled it, sat down and put her feet up on it, gently wiping away the wet and cold. She could see at the opposite side of the small room there was a cupboard. She stood and made her way toward it and opened it wide.

Upon a shelf was a blanket, a hurricane lamp and a box of matches. Hanging at one end was a thick coat made from animal skin, a soft suede on its outside and a thick fur lining its inside. It was too big and seamless for a fox. It could only be from a bear. Leather boots were in a corner at the base of the cupboard. She pulled the boots out. They were heavily lined with a wool fleece. With a bit of luck they might fit.

She slipped her foot into one. They were slightly too large, but they were snug enough to wear and were a necessity. She put her other foot into the other boot. Already she could feel a sense of relief. She unfolded the blanket and put it around her shoulders. She could smell its dustiness.

This must have been some sort of workers or trekkers hut for anyone hiking to the mountain. A rest stop and shelter before making the ascent. The only other item in the cupboard were some thick wool socks. She could use the socks as mittens. There was nothing else in the hut other than a shovel against the wall. Any food stores or other provisions had already been depleted or never left. It was something in which she would have to do without. It was not something she needed.

She pulled the blanket from her shoulders and reached into the cupboard clutching the thick coat from its hanger, swinging it round her, slipping each arm into its supple sleeves. It was like a warm hug. On the underside of the hanger revealed a belt. She could see there were no buttons on the coat, so pulled down the belt, made of what was likely a thick buffalo hide, and wrapped it around her waist fastening it, enclosing the coat around her. She felt like a caterpillar in a pod.

Lyf plucked up the box of matches . She pushed the box open inspecting its insides. There it revealed a solitary match. It would do. She put the box into a pocket of her pants. She walked to the door opening it wide. She lifted the hood that had been sewn into the collar of the jacket and snuggled it atop her crown. She stepped outside. The snow had already begun the fall.

Moving through the wooded surrounds, the path was protected from the falling snow. Her mist of breath evaporated against the darkness, with each footstep, as she exhaled on the inclining terrain. Ahead she could see a clearing that would bring her from the darkness to the light. Once she reached it she could see its full view where she edged the foot of the mountain. Upwards was a thick carpet of white, just visible as the snowflakes fell to the earth. She walked forward, and as the ground thickened with snow, her boots resounded in a crunch with each footfall into the soft powder. At first it only came up an inch from her sole, but as she ploughed ahead within moments she was already ankle deep. She knew it would get deeper the further she climbed.

An hour passed before Lyf stopped to take a breath. She turned to look back over her shoulder, panting. She could see her footsteps in the snow. The distance she had trekked from the base appeared remarkable. It was in looking back in that moment, she was amazed at how far she had walked. Looking and walking forward had an advantage of a progression, appearingly without hesitation. But the milestone of advancement within the backdrop of the origin generated a sense of trepidation at the length from the start. The distance would make it harder to return. She turned her head forward. With a heavier and more forceful step she climbed as her legs dug into the powder up to her knees.

The overcast skies, though bright through the haze of snow, made it impossible to tell the time of day. As time marched on, the sun was blocked of its trajectoried rise and fall in the skyline as though robbed of the hands of its clock. Lyf could feel the air thin and the cold grow the more she walked on, until she could walk no more, the powder so deep she began to wade in a balancing act on hands and knees. She stopped and rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. The subtle sting of ice on her face was at first raw until it gradually dissipated. Snowflakes, like the soft flutter of butterflies brushed her cheeks that made way to a sudden warmth. She opened her eyes and saw pockets of blue. Rays of the sun had burst through and the snow had stopped falling. She sat upright and watched in awe at the receding haze and the clouds surrounding her parted. She sat still and stared as the sky became a brilliant blue. As she looked out, the origin was gone and replaced by a horizon.

She turned around onto her knees and with the full force and strength of her arms began to dig with her hands. Protected with the woolen socks, she curved and cupped her hands, digging and scraping at the powdery snow. She dug and dug with quickening breaths until her knuckles started to sting and her fingertips became numb. She continued to dig until she had carved out a hole in line with the horizon and big enough for her to fit. It was a snow cave. As soon as she was comfortably tucked inside, she started to mold its inner space creating its cavern closer to the earth and the opening to the outside grew smaller. She turned her body and reached her arms just outside its rim and gathered the loose snow and pulled it toward her, packing it around the entrance until the hole to the outside became smaller and smaller. Until there was an opening the size of a keyhole. She sat back and looked at it, through it in a gentle pose. She could see the blue sky and perhaps that is all you needed to see, in order to see the world.

She scraped at the snow beneath her and cupped a fistful with her right hand and packed it over the hole. It plunged the cavern into darkness like an invisible hand had flicked the switch, turning off the lights.

Lyf pulled off her makeshift mittens and reached into her pocket and pulled out the box of matches. She felt its form in the dark, pushing it open and plucked out its solitary match. She closed the box to hold its shape, then struck the match down its side. The flame instantly illuminated the space in a warm glow. She could feel its heat on her cheeks. She gently held the flame up towards the invisible keyhole where she last packed the snow, painting the ice with the flame, brushing it in strokes like the feather of a bird. Its heat would make the soft snow melt so it became ice. Impenetrable.

As the flame receded she brought it towards her and gently blew. She lay back in the cavern, rested her head and closed her eyes. From now she could sleep. From now she could dream.

The sun would rise and fall and rise again. The winter would end and the snow would thaw. The seasons would change and the snow would build again. And Lyf would dream for a thousand nights, in which Lyf could dream a thousand dreams.