"The Light is Getting Brighter," by Justin Barrows

Just a pinprick, over there, you may have to stop moving to see it!" he said.

Or some such equivalent. The wind was too loud.

Every pine needle multiplied by every branch and tree on the mountain,

in one voice, had become fluent in freight train.

My toes were cold, they were frozen I think, or maybe wet.

In that way that you can't tell which, but I was pretty sure I could still wiggle one piggy.

"We got this! Left! Right!" the wind carried behind him, a phantom drill Sargent.

And so they did. Left foot, right. Left foot, right.

Two dead trees post-holing in a concerted effort forward.

Out of this cold and wind and pain.

Out of this nothing good, static-brained, insanity.

Everything still hurting and begging for release.

But stopping there in the artic maelstrom I could see it.

The light is getting brighter.

Sonofabitch was right.