Photo Story: Twenty-seven Winters

snowy roadThe first year here, when the trees soured from green into drought-yellow and dropped their leaves, their twiny bodies like the kindling I collected as a child, I said, “Everything has died.” You answered, in English, “It comes back.” And then it did.

When the snows came, blending horizon and sky the color of wet rice, chilling my fingers white like chicken bones, I said “I want to go home.” You answered, in English, “This is home.” Somehow it became.

Now, twenty-seven winters here, this snowfall is my first alone. Unlike every other year, I do not wish for spring.


Karen Sherk Chio lives in the Boston area. Her flash fiction has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly.

9 Responses to “Photo Story: Twenty-seven Winters”

  1. sbobet says:

    Summer’s nearly here and our feet need special attention and care

  2. Haleigh Drew says:

    Wow. That’s all I can say. Wow. :’)

  3. Mueleski says:


  4. Trish Saunders says:

    I also enjoyed this. The snows and the thaws, the growth and the dying, all beautifully expressed; I can see it happening.
    I like this very much!

  5. Tony Press says:

    Excellent — there is so much here, and each facet is told so well.

  6. Diane Hein-Beutel says:

    This is lovely. Well done.

  7. Evocative and sadly beautiful. Not one word wasted.

  8. Elaine McKay says:

    Beautiful writing. Love this.

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