Fresh Snow on Soiled Ground

Winter swooped down on Patagonia early that year, with chilly winds that blew away any cloud, letting the temperature rocket down to stay like that for months. Frost soon nested around the clock in any corner the pale sun didn’t reach, mountains wore their thick white cloak, daylight hours shrunk in what felt like a heartbeat.

And just like every winter, Silvia’s social life adjusted to the harsh weather. It was the time of the year for closest friends and easy get-togethers at home instead of a bar.

It was the season to weave tighter together that safety net of affection that had allowed her to spend the last two or three years playing the acrobat, ever since she’d met Pat. The only reason why she hadn’t ended up smashed on the floor when trapezes kept turning into smoke and vanished before her eyes, an inch away from her reaching hands, usually at the end of a triple somersault.

It was the time for long strategic board games, TV shows b