Hot Tub After Skiing, December, 2016

We were cold. All day we were cold.We thought of bitter gods (hard not to think of godsso close to the heavens) and were frightened.The mountain is divided. On one side the sun spilled its brilliance.The snow glistened. The aspen and birch trees stood tall and tiny mountain chickadees chased one another in strangeand compelling harmony. If there was terrorism in our midst,we did not know it. If there was an animal that threatened us,we did not sense it, though one of us saw a wolf lurking in the forest. All the birch trees wore different spots on their long and beautiful spines.What the small children liked to do most was slide down on their bums.All of us were in mourning. We the people, we with our inalienable rights.On the other side of the mountain it is ungroomed and barren. A bald eagle flies overhead searching for prey. There is noregard for order. Only the foolish come to perform their egotisticalstunts. The clouds are disseminating. Who knows what else.When the slopes close we release our skis from their binding, and trudge home, mere mortals, tired and spent. Our muscles ache. We undress, strip off our layers and plunge into the hot tub. Hate has been unleashed, Daughter No. 1 says. Daughter No. 2 says that we must withstand it because it’s our turn now.But I don’t like it. I want to understand. How did this happen? What can we do? Daughter No. 3 says.Daughter No. 2 considers this. Everything is changing. The mothers are quiet. This is their world now, we think. We don’t want to intrude. Daughter No. 3 says she’s frightened. She wakes up in her sleep.What will we do in the face of the vile and vengeful? How will we live in a world without ethics? Why has the clock turned backinstead of forward? It won’t do. We fire up the hot tub. Steam rises, obscuring our faces. The air is frigid, but the water is hot and our limbs are numb with the letting go. We watch the sun slowly descend into the mountain. Underneath the water we can’t tell whose legs are whose, whose hand is touching ours.Who is mother, daughter. Who belongs to whom.When the uprising will begin. Everything is floating away from us against our will. The price of his glory is our suffering, Daughter No. 1 says. She is the vigilant one.The water gurgles against the throbbing of the jets.