Short Story: Ice
by John L. DeBoer Ice points form on my mustache, Vapor breath is labored. I put one cramponed foot ahead, Then rest before the next: A steady rhythm, moving up, Can’t yet see the summit.
by John L. DeBoer Ice points form on my mustache, Vapor breath is labored. I put one cramponed foot ahead, Then rest before the next: A steady rhythm, moving up, Can’t yet see the summit.