Snow Cairn Marks the Way
It's early morning, and I fear that I am finally trapped within this newly wet and treacherous snow. Lost for hours amid the drifts and following fresh ski tracks, I am circling round and round the frozen reservoir. There are no signposts to indicate an exit, and my situation is becoming perilous. Nary a compass, nor a sextant nor a wet and smeary map have I. I have no instruments at all save my memories from another time, another season, a warm and happy land free of finger-slicing frost and voracious, freezing snow.
Where is the turnoff? Must I rotate forever in this deadly hinterland, etching circle after circle in this endless reservoir rim? Help! Help! I have lost my way!
Wait! Is that a shiny, glinting something catching the dim emerging sun? Is that a hidden beacon made of tiny coppery orbs? Did some ancient being take the time to mark the turn-off trail with a friendly frozen cairn?
Where is the turnoff? Must I rotate forever in this deadly hinterland, etching circle after circle in this endless reservoir rim? Help! Help! I have lost my way!
Wait! Is that a shiny, glinting something catching the dim emerging sun? Is that a hidden beacon made of tiny coppery orbs? Did some ancient being take the time to mark the turn-off trail with a friendly frozen cairn?
