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Preparedness is a trait she takes pride in. So when the wind forces itself on her skin, she is certain she won’t feel it, and when the snow swallows up her feet, her toes will be warm in these funny furry boots she just bought. She’s definitely up for the trek. Her vest is so puffy. Her gloves too goddamn big. She jumps out of the truck and they gravitate towards the water’s edge where the waves are forcefully edging the sand. Slapping the bank, whipping up froth, and making known that winter water is different. It’s here. It wants them closer.

Two trees catch their eyes. They take the obligatory picture. He also takes pictures of her, which feels nice, but also weird, like she's somehow part of another story. One where she is just another character, performing, presuming, playing. 

Patching up parts, once left unseen.

Now noticed. 

He notices her. 

That feels nice. 

The jumble of branches are fallen, twisted, re-entwined again. The smooth, weathered, hard, gray wood extends into the freezing Great Lake. 

It’s great. It’s Day One. It’s New Year’s Day, the first day of 2020. All she could think of at the time was the metaphorical severance, and also servitude, these dead-but-anchored fallen beings suggested, lying lazily together, going nowhere but resigning to rest. By her definition of relationships, and perpetual analysis of worldly objects that act as symbolic omens (this searching becomes annoying, actually), she automatically reads the resting giants, or the Together Trees as she names them, and interprets desire and longevity. The Together Trees orientated themselves as perpendicular to the horizon, launching themselves through their visual linear momentum. They were a unified vessel, prepared to navigate the uncharted waters, designed to leave the sandy snow. Their gaze reached a hierarchical, watery horizon.

The horizon. 

Flat. 

Consistent. 

...
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