Saturday night, after teeth were brushed and faces were washed, after we got water and put the chain on the door, we turned out all the lights and opened up the curtains in our living room. We watched a million flurries blot out the sidewalk, then laid down under an extra comforter and fell asleep with the back light of the building next door shining into the room.

With the glow from the building still on my face, I woke up when it was still dark and for a second thought that I was in some great incubator. Further west than West, water and trees arched toward a ceremony away from the snow, moving closer to flip-flopped cakes of lemony light.