Cardrona

It’s mid winter, the air is dusted with ice as it grips the stiffly frozen plants. Their leaves stand tall, locked in place by the shimmering crystals that litter the hillside. The sky is stained by a burning orange that paints the rocky mountain tops. The pure white that blankets the mountains is woken by a piercing orange. A weary moon sits high in the sky as it begins to retreat into its faded sleep, until woken by a sea of darkness that floods the hillside. The sharp ice creates a piercing touch with every breath you take as it hugs your lungs, numbing your fingertips with a faint blue.

 A small weary township lies still in its sleep, captured by the ice. Its small bodied buildings dusted with the cold, as dead as the night. A long black-frosted line parts the township. The rustling of bodies spreads through the early morning like an ocean wave. One by one. Small boxes that scatter the country side flood with light. Smoke emerges from chimneys in an attempt to break the tight grasp of the cold. It grabs hold of the mist and chokes it as it blankets the small arrangement of houses. Its smell burns your lungs as it replaces the ice mist.

Listen. Melody. A song sung through a longing silence that touches your ears with a gentle wind. Broken by the screaming crunch of the grass crippling beneath your feet. A defining crunch that echoes in your ears. And is only paused by the roaming sound of vehicles in the distance, creeping closer and closer. They, also victim to the cold, painted with a sheet of ice. Like an endless chain they fill the dark frosty road. They stampede off the black coated tar-seal and onto the dusty frozen road of Cardrona. Its bright red sign tinted with dust and ice, hanging high above the gates. A string of red lights climbs higher and higher until the dime red of taillights fade from view. Now only red dots scatter the road.

The small towns awake, it is no longer dead but buzzing with life. The chimneys now roaring with the sound of heat, the cold slowly losing its battle as the day begins. The burnt smell of toast, clatter of cutlery and the screaming of the kettle as the morning begins. The peaceful silence that once lingered over the township now filled with the sound of life. Weary bodies, kids, teenagers, adults,  now inhabit the silence as the morning rush begins. Some joining the scattered lights heading towards the vacant snow, some racing the clock to make the icy box they call the bus.

The clinging ice shimmers against the now raging blue sky, awoken from its sleep the piercing sun bursts over the sharp outline of the mountain tops. Attacking the blanket of ice with its raging heat. The tiny crystals shimmer with light as the harsh touch of the sun beats through them. The trees now sodden as the cold is pushed into the shadows. Goose bumps. A sign of defeat. The scorching sun rages against your skin leaving it tingling with warmth.