There's a name for them - Chionophiles. Beings that thrive best in winter and crave the cold, dry days that crisp the lungs after hours of musty, fusty interiors. Seeking out Alpine treks or hooked by the lure of ski towns. All those slate clean white-outs, slippery slopes, well-heeled for high speed whilst the temperate townspeople trudge through sludgy streets or loiter sluggishly indoors like dusty, tropical plants in the hothouses of winter homes. You can see them looking out through steamy windows, forever keeping watch for signs of thaw. The summer before last she'd abandoned her skis for that most final of times. He followed on after, within a year or so. His hiking boots stand forever idle, with a dusting of Welsh mountains and Austria embedded in the soles.
Note: In botany ”fenestration’ refers to natural holes in the leaves of some species of plants. It also means an arrangement of windows.
Tangential Tellings on Thursday- the opposite of ekphrastic à la Teju Cole
PoetryPix 