Four snow angels, all side-by-side in the crisp white on the back yard. I'm not quite sure how they got there... one I made in a dream, I know that much. And then one looks as if it was made with hope. As if I hoped I was going to make a snow angel, but knew from the start it wasn't going to come out right... see where the robe isn't quite formed, and the wings don't quite stretch high enough. One I don't remember making at all, so I don't even know if it counts. And one I'm lying in, right now, moving my arms up and down and staring at the sky.
It's funny, you know, lying here in the snow where the world makes sense. I know as soon as I get up my perspective will change and everything will be all upside-down, just like before, and just like forever more. I imagine what would happen if I wrote this story down, and I laugh out loud. People will read it, I say to myself, and they'll wonder what it means.
Well, it doesn't mean anything. Not from where you're standing. You have to lie here in the snow with me. There's another snow angel planned; I've left space. We'll lie here together and stare at the sky, and then - maybe then you'll see.
