Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 68
kiss a rose. We skied that day—those slopes were unlighted—until
the valley telephoned the summit to close the lifts and then,
reestablishing our terrestrial equilibrium as one does after a long
sail, a hockey game—as tightrope artists must—we swaggered into
the bar, where our cups and everything else were brimming. I can
remember this and I can remember the sailboat race too, but it is
getting dark here now, it is too dark for me to write anymore.”