Aphotic pine trees stand biblical; as if of microscopic hairs on the albino face of God. His almighty smile is the very bottom of an empty temperature. Bristles of frozen conifer needles sound like worlds of clocks that will never animate. Never grow to slow again. Life seems of permanent hibernation. Except the man. His movement in the wilderness is of a handless pocket watch counting down like lead weights sinking beneath a river. A river he comes upon and crosses. Execrates his own movement. Giant aeries built of jack pines and antlers and spines decorate the coppice. Paths of stumps. Wine dark skin. A boy screams. Ravens laugh. The white on white watches. Teeth like Kavan ice. Armageddon in his arms. His hatchet. Swings. Chops.