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I’m under the porch. How I got under the porch I do not know, but I was under the porch and the quiet snow was falling. My small body is stuffed into a purple snowsuit and my socks, my socks are bunched up at the toes. And my feet are sweaty. And my hands are in mittens attached to a string through the sleeves of my coat. And my nose burns red from the cold. I’m that catatonic kind of cold, unable to un-bunch socks, unable to wriggle fingers in mittens, unable to do anything or think about anything or want anything. So I am stuck. Very stuck. Do you remember? How the snow would just keep falling on a soft diagonal. Hours and hours of snow falling, hours of no sound but sniffles and sighs. Then the wind would blow hard and for a second it would all get stirred up, flakes in all directions, flakes on high. I probably wanted to eat them, probably wanted to catch them on my tongue. But you can’t really catch snow on your tongue because it disappears in an instant. Just like that. And it doesn’t taste like anything. And mostly when you’re catching snow on your tongue, you don’t get a snack but your face gets even wetter, even colder. Just smacked with it. And I forget where I am under that porch, forget that I am, forget that an inside is just above me, because the snow always drifts in Ohio, and it carried me away.