After The Winter Before by Susan Tepper

When the winter finally turned I go to the pine forest. Needles crunching underfoot. Trees so tall the light is blocked. I find the spot where my father is buried. I leave the first good sun to enter darkness again. How does this speak of me. I lived through snow piled past the windows. The never-ending dwindling winter food supply. A house cold beyond imagining. My horse thinner than after the winter before. What does this say of me. I beg for answers, dear Petrov. I beg for you to come. Where you are billeted is anyone’s guess. Do I crave the hideous beyond that sent me into the forest. Or was the light simply too much all at once. Brilliant. Blinding.

Kohada Koheiji Motif

AI generated. Inspired by Hokusak's 100 Ghost Stories (1831-1832)