White Room Tales

From each day's accessory, he loved most the ride.

Not the smooth, clean rush of descent, mid you, but the chance acquaintance of each required rise.

Who you met was a mystery.

Old friends, new faces, families, sweethearts, lone wolfs, wildcats, locals, or visitors; each came and went as clouds in the sky. Wrapped tight in their wintery, each encounter was conducted through the shrouded filter of anonymity.

And that gift of facelessness ever bore gregarious fruit--for who wouldn't talk if garuanteed forever safety from their words?

Past or future, hopes or dread; magnificient fallacy met bare-boned truth over the fleeting ten minutes to the top.