Across camp, Sommer emerged from Broker’s tent robed in his sleeping bag.

“Check it out, we woke up on a wedding cake,” Sommer said, blinking at the hushed foliage.

Then he stooped, knelt, felt around for a flat place on the ground, found one, laid out the bag, sat down on it, and folded his legs in a casual lotus position. With the rest of the bag drawn around his shoulders he sat upright and draped his hands on his knees. Just like yesterday.

Broker studied the lanky writer sitting Buddha-fashion against a background of snowy spruce. Sommer had this tattoo on his left wrist, like a colorful bracelet, until you got a good look at it, and then you realized that the color scheme and sequence were the exact reds, greens, and grays of the lethal coral snake.

While Sommer did his morning meditation, Broker and Milt talked weather and drank their coffee. Then Sommer unfolded from his sitting position, bent forward, placed his forearms on the ground, clasped his hands, tucked in his shaggy head, and slowly hoisted himself up perfectly vertical into a headstand.

“Does that every morning, too?” Broker asked.

“Yeah, he’s trying to stay mellow.” Milt paused and rolled his eyes. “Until Jolene rings him up again.”

“We should be out of cell-phone range soon,” Broker said.

“Knock on wood,” Milt said.

Chapter Two

“So, what do you think?” Broker jerked a thumb at the low clouds.

“I think you’re right, it’s going to snow,” Milt said.

“I heard that,” Sommer called out, as he lowered his feet to the ground, sat up, and looked around. “How soon?”

“Can’t tell. There’s coffee by the fire,” Broker said.

Sommer poured a cup, squinted his hazel eyes, ran a hand through his thick blond hair, and lit a Camel straight.