The hill is an institution that exists only during those snowy months sometime between november and april. The hill is beside our school, but the familiar walk is anything but, when we trek with sleds slung over shoulders or towed behind. Fannie glances back at us between chomps of snow, could you go any slower?. We run the last few yards to the gentle slope of the hill’s crest. The hill defies all logic, and obeys no laws; gravity scowls as we depart the ground and float in forever; a bubble of time that pops and drops us back to earth.