#wolf winter

“the snowflakes that float in the air above the mountain are as big as Lapp mittens, as soft as the wool closest to the sheep’s heart”

“Wolf Winter,” she said, her voice small. “I wanted to ask about it. You know, what it is.”

Sometimes when you had a thought, it refused to leave. You rejected it, disowned it, sent it away, to find, moments later, that you were still spending time with it. It might have a different shape or use different words, but there was no mistaking: it was the same one.

There were candles in the windows. But here in the streets the black sky had fallen and was lying face down and flat-handed on the earth itself.

…the sky had turned Bible-black…..