marc owen jones

Wind whipped atop the world

I’ve just returned from three days skiing in Val Thorens with Rod and Graham, who I have been friends with for as long as my children’s combined ages. We had snow, which is more than can be said for the rest of the Alps, and we had peace. It was too early for the serious skiers, or packs of families and so the mountains were almost empty, apart from us. Wearing helmets and wrapped in scarves, the only sound was the wind whipping flurries of snow in excitement.

I love the coldness that cuts across your face like a paper cut. I love the altitude that shortens your breath to the pant of an asthmatic. I love the speed, the burn in your muscles, the ache in your cheeks from smiling. I love the anticipation of danger. The only thing I don’t love is heights; cable cars make me go weak for all the wrong reasons. But all good things are heightened when embraced by fear.

I came home to the publication of Bridge House Publishing’s anthology, The Light in the Dark. It features my story, Daylight Saving, as one of 24 short stories – one for every day from 1st December to Christmas Eve.

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