Bleak in the Snow Back in my green years, my sister, the botanist, fixes me up with her African college roommate— who, like her, is pretty and built— into botany—and an activist, deeply rooted in the environmental and feminist movements. On our second date—a mild March day— we go snow shoeing. As we trek through a national forest, to impress her I turn my attention to the trees and say, Look at the bleak, dormant deciduous trees. Isn't it sad how the color and life have— like gone on vacation? She shoots a, Sad? at me. Yeah. Look at the conifers, I say, standing green and alive in the snow— showing off their color. She stops and lectures. What's wrong with vacations? The maples and birches are resting up for their panorama of spring, summer, and fall colors. The conifers have only one act. They have nothing to get ready for. It's the same show after show. The hardwoods have undressed— they're naked. The conifers wait for death to undress them. Living nakedness is beautiful; it's honest, revealing, provocative. She panks a large area of snow with her snow shoes, takes them off, stands in the firmed snow, undresses— spreading her clothes beside her. Naked, standing on her clothes, she holds her arms out and up, stands motionless, her dark skin alive against the snow—a sister of the maples. Is this revealing, beautiful? She asks. I can't speak, only nod. Well? she says. I rush out of my clothes, try to ignore my sister, who taps on a window in my skull. I wonder if she's surprised, angry. But when her roommate kneels, motions me in front of her, my sister obligingly goes away. Then it's a whirlwind panorama of color: an erotic expedition. When it's over and we're dressed, resting against a maple, she says, Good sex is deciduous. I nod, say, It's deciduous. I pat the maple. Except, I say, you rest before and after your clothes are off. My sister returns to the window— a nakedness wraps around me. I shiver. Her roommate looks intensely at me—decodes my mind. She smiles one of those smiles that flick on when you run into someone you don't expect. She nods, sheds the smile, says, About sex, you men are too analytic; that's why I generally prefer women.