Yet shall the streams turn back and climb the hills
Before Love’s flame in this damp wood and green
Burn, as it burns within a youthful lady,
For my sake, who would sleep away in stone
My life, or feed like beasts upon the grass,
Only to see her garments cast a shade.
August. Midday. Look up: flawless sky
until a cloud sprouts; sidles; suddenly
blots out the sun. Wind troubles the trees
It’s rare in sport to go out on top, to make the final chapter of a sporting career worthy of all the chapters that preceded it. But, Nicola Spirig has made a habit of doing the seemingly impossible.