The Wind Never Came Home

Csoona didn't wait for the dead anymore. Years of practice had made her good at it. Or perhaps, merely patient- because of course, no matter how long she waited, he never did come back. But now she wasn't waiting anymore. When she'd stand on the mountain and look out, she wasn't looking for him any longer. She wasn't expecting him to come over the white and grey, and, even more importantly, she wasn't expecting him not to.

She didn't even miss him anymore. It was nostalgia only that put her on the mountain. It was the cold, the bite, the dead smell of the air. She'd buried him, without ever having had a body.

***

Holy crap I love how this turned out. You have no idea. The inspiration for this was a massive (truly, it's like an albino afro) alpaca fur hat I bought at a fair last weekend. I thought just a bit of my face poking out with some stark, cold imagery would be striking.

I want to go to the store like this, and ask someone where to find the mukluks.



Time: 2 "American Pickers"
Medium: Wolfe Brothers