rakel Playmaker Rakel was an Icelandic university student who could only converse with me in broken English. There was always a tangible delight about her countenance, resonating throughout her presence, right down to the delicate kinks in her dark blonde hair. I met her on a mountain near her home through a common love, snowboarding. As soon as I noticed the winter sky reflected in her Oakleys, my interest was piqued. Flat out, having just collided with me, she gazed sunward while slowly saying mouthing in her native vernacular. "You'd better not be swearing. If you want to apologise to me you're going to have to do it in English." The giggle and consequent conversation was one of the easiest interactions I've ever had. She tutored me in the history of her country while I devoured her discourse, a satiation make all the more alluring by the undulations in her parlance. As the sun dipped we freerode back to sea-level, the powder so fine it was like carving on silk. I told her I'd buy her dinner, but only if she cooked it for me. After a dinner of sweet potato and Icelandic cod we went ice-skating together and laughed loudly as we constantly toppled one another. "You're enjoying this too much" I said, and she admitted what I already knew. As we trudged back with her brother's skates slung around my neck, we gazed up at the Northern Lights. I looked skyward to seek a whisper of her aspirations, then back at her until her wondrous gaze met my own. 061120 what's it to you? who go blather from