This Moment - November 30, 2010 1:37 P.M

Words are falling like snow in this room. alchemy, bone, fir, scarlet, limn, clavicle, grace, hallowed, piscatory, ebony, and thousands more clutter the floor, cling to tables, surround each computer in small clumps, and rest their warm bodies on our shoulders. The world is made of words. The scene outside my wall of windows is made of snow. The mountains are buttoned inside the coat of winter and the sky is a glacier blue. A young woman leans into the cold. Her wheat-colored coat is open, a scarlet scarf hides the thinness of her neck. Her breath comes in jagged exhales and freezes before her. If I were to leave the warmth of this room and join her, I am certain she would be grateful for my story of the deer I saw running down a neighborhood street looking for shelter from the storm. I am certain we share the same sadness, and a longing to find what we lost so very long ago. Yes, of this I am certain.