Wednesday morning arrives with the first real snow of the season.
Not much, a thin layer, the kind that covers the ground without committing to anything, that the crew will clear before breakfast and that will be gone from the southern faces of the buildings by noon. But it changes the quality of the morning light in the compound. Everything is briefly, precisely itself — the edges of the east wing against the white, the courtyard's particular shape made visible, the footprints of whoever was out early crossing the fresh surface.
Reth's footprints go from the main building to the kitchen door and back. The bird has been fed.
Petra's footprints go from the crew quarters to the south wall and back. She was up before dawn. Standing at the wall the way Lucien and I stand at the wall looking
