Walking
A park in a snowstorm
The city went white in an hour. I went out instead of home.
Freja Ås
It started snowing at three and by four the park was gone under it. The lamps came on early. The benches turned into soft white shapes.
I walked the long path along the railings. Every footstep squeaked. A man went past on cross-country skis, right through the middle of the city, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
At home
My jeans were wet to the knee. I made tea and watched from the window as the snow covered my footprints. By morning there was no trace I had been there.
