He has promised me we’ll dine al fresco tonight, but the air is suddenly winter. So the candles and roast chicken come inside and we pretend we are alone together in our cabina in the Alps. I tear the bread. ‘It’s coming hard and early this year,’ I say, watching the wind whip snowflakes agains the kitchen window.
Bon Iver sips his wine and gazes into the middle distance. “Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco, baby.”
Bon Iver is stripping blackberry vines of their thorns, ready to begin a new handwoven basket. He’s tucked a lovely autumn rose behind his ear, and his eyes are full of sunrise. ‘This is all a man wants,’ he says, sniffing the rose.
Bon Iver stops in his tracks. The ground is frosted, just enough to make the fallen leaves pale and rubbery and to silence their swooshing. I freeze like the ground, trying not to breathe hot air into my jacket.
A deer flits across the trail ahead, and then –
– three wolves –
– and then we exhale, and Bon Iver takes my hand and pulls me in. ‘That was so awesome,’ he muses, and flips a peanut into the air, catching it in his mouth, and later he writes a song about it all.
Bon Iver and I hauled wood to our little cabin spot in the mountains today. The trip was difficult, complicated by a fall sunshower and waylaid by a field of ripe huckleberries. As night approached, the air turned from crisp to biting.
It was worth the work. ‘I can’t wait to fire this baby up,’ Bon Iver says, lighting the wood fire that will heat our soaking tub, and pouring me a glass of brandy.
'I can't wait to fire this baby up,' he repeats gruffly, sinking into the hot water behind me, lost in the steam.
Bon Iver has painted acorns with pink hearts and is throwing them into my hammock. ‘I’m trying to finish this chapter!’ I say, throwing them back.
'War!' he shouts, whipping leaves and sticks at me as I ping him with acorns and, finally, my book, which leaves me with nothing to do, so then I pull him into the hammock and we make love, swinging, beneath the ancient trees until the birds begin to sing their evening songs.