The New Winter-Over

The relief plane's skis hiss against the spring ice. You meet them at the threshold with a smile that does not quite reach your eyes, pressing warm mugs into mittened hands. You look wonderful, they say. We were so worried.

You laugh — a sound borrowed, perfectly fitted. Below your boots, through meters of steel and permafrost, something hums in your old voice, patient as glaciers. It will be a long summer. And then, another winter, another researcher, another warm mug at the door.