Day 343 - The Lee
One to grow
Two to over-grow
Three to avalanche
We built our house at the foot of a great unnamed mountain. We built our family there too, and over the years they grew. So did the mountain. Every year the snow pack grew thicker, the cornice taller. Every year we said, "Maybe next year we should move away. Some day that thing will fall."
One Spring they dug us out when the snows thawed. We were still there, amid the splintered logs of our great Hall.
They buried us in the lee of the knoll just west of our house. The avalanche had swept around that great rock, and there was a patch of land there suitable for the dead, or the living.
We talk about it in the times when we can, in-between times, when we are present. Dusks and dawns and the approaches of storms and spring thaws all have energy and briefly give us life.
We have agreed, upon much discussion, that while we built our lives, we built our deaths. We did so out of ignorance and laziness and the sheer will to disbelieve in bad fortune.
There's another family over there now, but they won't die as we did. They're building their own mountain of snow, but it's snow their children buy on the streets. No matter how they build it, one day their avalanche will come.
If the parents are smart, they'll move to the lee and be there to dig their loved ones out after the avalanche. We try and tell them. We write stories for them to read. We leave signs and portents. We leave our love behind as we fade into the sunlight that they so love.
We'll be there, when they are ready to face the snow.