Cutting edges don t come cheap. What the cutting edge feels, so Forest feels in the flesh. Heading down the level stretch of new homes and logged-off woods of the old Freechie land, Forest sees Eli is still staring down from his side of the truck at the clattering plow, rams, and cables the surge of it all. Like the rupture of sea over rock, the enduring watery properties of snow never fail to awe. Eli keeps watching the plow wing banking snow, shrugs sort of listlessly.
Forest looks back into the night.
Forest jerks the shift to the far plow, raises the front plow easy, stops the truck with the truck s usual quarrelsome growl. He pats the wheel. Eli edges over to him, working his legs and boots over the shifts. Forest shows him how to place his hands on the wheel. White shards, black shards.