AN ALPINE IDYLL
We had stayed too long. I could taste the snow water we had been drinking melted off the tin roof of the hut. The taste was a part of the way I felt about skiing. I was glad there were other things beside skiing, and I was glad to be down, away from the unnatural high mountain spring, into this May morning in the valley.
The innkeeper sat on the porch of the inn, his chair tipped back against the wall. Beside him sat the cook.
“Ski-heil!” said the innkeeper.
“Heil!” we said and leaned the skis against the wall and took off our packs.
“How was it up above?” asked the innkeeper.
“Schön. A little too much sun.”
“Yes. There’s too much sun this time of year.”
The cook sat on in his chair. The innkeeper went in with us and unlocked his office and brought out our mail. There was a bundle of letters and some papers.
“Let’s get some beer,” John said.
“Good. We’ll drink it inside.”
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