In Calgary, 2009.

Walking home along the frozen river. I had thought I would be cold in my skirt, thick tights and legwarmers but I was fine. Snow was falling down lazily and sticking to my wool coat, my eyelashes and the tips of my hair.

Someone was cross-country skiing on the river. I kept pace with her and watched her, noticing her movements. My mother used to cross-country ski in Finland. I thought I would like to try it. At one point the skiier stopped and touched something with a pole, turning it over. I wondered if it was garbage, or a frozen animal.

Last night, some friends and I watched a documentary about Antarctica. Three people lay down upon a frozen sea to listen to the sound of seals beneath the ice, their eerie music.

When the skiier and I got to the riverbend, she skiied out of sight and I realized I was home. I crossed the street without looking. It was so quiet.

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