my hands were worse. they would barely work and hardly hold the pencil (that i keep just in case the ink in my pen won’t flow.) i swear that even my brain was frozen. half of it anyway, the creative half. i could only write fragments in my journals. so. put away your reading glasses, a four year old could read this one.
got to camp.
put up tent.
gathered wood.
lit fire.
starts snowing.
gather up dinner.
run to tent.
cook in tent.
body heat plus cook stove heat warms tent.
snow melts onto tent.
stops snowing.
slide under vestibule.
eat outside, under stars.
walk through snow.
filter water.
come back to frozen tent.
sil-nylon ice sheet.
scurry under.
headlamp lights tent like a chandelier.
stars sleeping inside my tent.
my tent is going to prom with a sequin dress.
i went to bed cold but woke up warm in an ice cave of a tent. i sat up and when i bumped the inside of my tent the frozen condensation would fall like snow. i ate my breakfast dreading. i knew i’d have to shake the frost off of my tent. i knew that regardless of gloves, my hands would be freezing again. back to the feeling from the night before. my hands were worse.
kevin -slowboat- blackwell. cdt 09
ps. in one of my first emails, i talked about making it the best summer ever. well, that’s all changed. now, we’re making it the best winter ever. (we’ve been snowed on everyday for the last three and a half weeks.) oh colorado. you look so good in white, but i prefer you dressed ever green.
