Et in Arcadia…

Just lying there last night, at the end of the day, mind idling in neutral, I think of a scene, a situation. It’s not from any piece of work, not from anything I’m working on or plan to do:

An ice wind hard and steady across the Siberian steppe. Wolf howls in the distance. Closer…

The crump and creak of deep snow under snow-shoes, laboured breath in a deepening twilight…

Ivan and Pyotr haul their sledge between snow-clad firs. Frost rimes their beards, their breath plumes in the chill air. A steady slog, two miles to the cabins, amber light in the windows, warmth, and company. 

‘Beating the wolves off with one hand,’ my partner suggests. Then: ‘That sounded wrong.’


Names have been withheld to protect the guilty.


Et in Arcadia… — 1 Comment

  1. I was reading along, thinking oh wow, snow? Wolves? Dave should *so* write this. And then I got to the bit where the needle screeched to a noisy halt over the record….and burst out laughing.

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