At the ravine
The next morning arrived with dazzling brightness. Sunlight poured through the frosted windows like melted gold, warming the corners of the house and pulling us all - slowly, sleepily - back into motion. By ten, Arthur had already declared the plan for the day: sledding. Sledding, he announced with a gleam in his eye, “proper downhill racing, bruised knees included.” The house came alive in preparation. Scarves were re-wrapped, gloves hunted down from under couches, snow pants borrowed and layered on. Everyone was dragging something behind them - wooden sleds, old-fashioned ice sleds with metal runners, inflatable tubes with cartoon faces, even a plastic storage bin that Abraham insisted would work “just fine.” We marched through the forest in a crooked line, chattering and slipping and
- Writer
